


Two Point Perspective

by cheeryos



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Murder Mystery, POV Alternating, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, but mostly fun and lighthearted, still magical but not canon magic, strap in for some weird inside baseball jokes about dc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 79,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheeryos/pseuds/cheeryos
Summary: There are so many legitimate reasons for Adam Parrish to be stressed out. Stupid, insufferable, dreamy (wait, no, scratch that last one) architect Ronan Lynch should barely be a blip on his radar. But because Ronan Lynch is stupid and insufferable (and dreamy—wait, no,notthat last one) he absolutely delights in driving Adam to his wit’s end.So when Adam stumbles upon a real, huge, Actual Problem, of course stupid insufferable (dreamy) Ronan Lynch is there to make it all worse.*Fleabag voice* This is aloveghost story.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 260
Kudos: 275





	1. Architects and Engineers, Part I

**Author's Note:**

> soooo welcome to my first attempt at a serial! a truly wild idea popped into my head and then somehow spun out into a fully formed plot. this is not finished but I’ve been working on it for less than a month and it’s already clocking in at the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my dissertation lmao) so I am very invested in its eventual completion.
> 
> character tags to be added as they are introduced.

**From: pgreenmantle@cwater.com**

**bcc: aparrish@cwater.com**

**Subject: New project!!**

_Hey team,_

_We got the new park in NoMa! Congrats all who worked on the bid. Primary design team will be Adam and Ronan on this one. You can go ahead and set up a meeting to start talking specifics. Let me know as you progress._

_This is a big one, guys. SO excited!!!_

_Cheers,_

_Piper_

It was 9:34 on a Monday morning, and Adam Parrish was ready to quit his job.

_Primary design team will be Adam and Ronan on this one._

Ugh. This was the third time in as many months that he had been assigned to a project with his work nemesis. He just could not understand why this kept happening to him.

Well, okay, it’s not like they turned in garbage or anything. The work always ended up…fine. More than fine, if he was being truthful. But the ends were getting extremely close to not justifying the torturous means. Which was completely infuriating. He was good at his job, and more importantly he actually liked it, which was something he never imagined could be possible while growing up. So if he was extra salty at Ronan Fucking Lynch for making him even contemplate quitting, no one could really blame him.

And so Monday morning found Adam head down on the desk in his office, silently pleading with the universe to stop putting him in this position. Adam didn’t think he was being unreasonable. He wasn’t asking for lightning to strike the guy down, or anything. He wasn’t even asking to cut off all contact. It was inevitable that they’d run into each other occasionally. As they were two of Cabeswater Consulting design firm’s rising stars, it was likely to happen semi-regularly. Adam would have been fine with that. Some happy hour small talk, a hello or two in the halls, even polite disagreement during department meetings would be bearable. Instead, some horrible twist of fate kept forcing them to _actually_ _work together_. He didn’t know if he believed in fate, but he was certain that if it existed, fate definitely had it out for him.

He was worried that it would soon become a liability to his reputation at the company. He had spent years of his life carefully crafting a calm and stable persona, projecting outward all the ease he desperately wished to feel inside, and Ronan Fucking Lynch was hell-bent on smashing through it with a sledgehammer.

Every goddamn day brought some new knock-down-drag-out fight over steel beams (“ugly”), wood floors (“overrated”), or how many windows could conceivably go into a wall (“the limit does not exist”, apparently). Not only did Lynch have no concept of the laws of the physical world, he seemed to delight in the fact, not least because he could tell it drove Adam insane.

Once he literally designed a house with no front door. When Adam asked (“what the _actual_ fuck, Lynch?”) he just shrugged and pointed to some hybrid ladder-staircase leading to a second story window. Much like their creator, his designs were fantastical, beautiful, and wholly impractical. It then fell to Adam to engineer them into reality. Simply put, his job was impossible.

But the really pathetic part was that Adam was pretty certain he’d be able to deal with Lynch’s bullshit if the man wasn’t also so visually…striking.

His gaze was intense and chilly, with irises like ice chips. They were unfriendly eyes, made only for glares and unkind laughter. Coupled with coal-black hair cropped short on top and shorter on the sides, sharp brows and sharper cheekbones, and the glimpsed edges of a tattoo under his (obviously never starched) collar, he was unapproachable at best and downright terrifying at worst. The fact remained that he also could have easily graced magazine covers the world over. He was, quite simply, stunning.

Honestly, it was probably a good thing that beautiful Ronan Lynch was also such an unholy douchebag. Adding a winning personality on to a physical package like that would be too much for anyone to handle. He’d have the entire office falling at his feet in seconds flat. 

The whole stupid situation in general was just a little hard to swallow. Adam felt off-kilter and jumpy every time they were in a room together, half-convinced that Lynch was either looking down on him or laughing at him. This vague unease and embarrassment might have led to his lashing out more than he normally would, sure, but Lynch’s attitude only fueled the fire. This was not some weird one-sided grudge of Adam's—it definitely took two to dance this fucked up tango they had going.

Then again, Adam really should be above trivial things like getting mildly unraveled by a pretty face…okay, and body…and voice. Still. He was a grown-ass adult with an apartment, a cat, and a master’s degree in civil engineering, dammit. He was perfectly capable of handling a (very, very) hot asshole in a professional manner.

“ _Lynch_ , for God’s sake! There is no way this measly twisted bit of fancy wood will hold up the roof! How many times do I need to re-explain the concept of load-bearing support to you? Or are you actively _trying_ to kill our clients?”

“Parrish, I swear to God, if you come near my design with that eraser, I will throw hands.”

…Okay, so maybe “professional” was too much to ask.

__________

Adam did not end up quitting his job. Ronan Fucking Lynch problems aside, he did actually love the work. He loved being able to apply his specific abilities, both innate and diligently acquired, to his projects. He loved the stability of a 9-to-5 schedule. He loved the closet-simplifying business casual dress code that went along with a white-collar office job. Above all, he loved the regular (not insubstantial) paycheck. These steady markers of a good job fit in nicely with his good steady life.

He lived simply and frugally, saving up his money by cooking at home and taking Metro instead of getting a car that he would barely use. In a few years he was hoping to buy a place of his own, maybe even downtown. He was far more aware than most how fragile stability could be, and how hard-won his own normal(ish) life was. The easy routine of it all allowed him to let out a deep sigh of relief when he got home every evening to his one-bedroom condo and his tabby Moxie.

So what if he didn’t have close friends at work? People who gossiped in the break room were lame.

So what if he saw his college and grad school friends only very occasionally these days? They were all busy now that they had real lives.

So what if hadn’t been on a date in six months? He was self-sufficient and independent. Alone, maybe, but not lonely. He preferred it that way, because things could always be much, much worse.

See, the problem was that despite outward appearances Adam Parrish was a complicated creature. He lived with several secrets, each one more troubling than the last.

Growing up in Henrietta, Adam had collected lots of little pieces of evidence that clued him into all the ways he wasn’t like the other kids. Each piece was dropped on top of the one before, until they all coalesced into one big tangled pile of _Danger_ inside his chest.

When he noticed boys in the same way that other boys noticed girls, it was clear that his brain and his heart and his eyes were somehow all linked up differently. Not that he didn’t also notice girls in that way too. He just felt like he could maybe want— _more_. He soon learned that this was not a normal way for little boys to think.

When classmates talked about their parents, and laughed with their siblings, it was clear that their homes were wildly different from the casual violence of his own. To them, the word _home_ evoked feelings of love and security, not dread or the desperate desire to escape. That, too, was not normal.

And when the kids from the neighboring trailers found him speaking to an older man near the dirt road, he was branded a freak and ridiculed for months. The problem there was that the man was dead. And Adam quickly realized that he was the only one who could see him.

After that first incident, he kept his visions to himself. He never stopped seeing them, though, and so he kept himself to himself as well. Friends were for normal kids, who didn’t grow up with anger and fear, who didn’t grow up with unnatural urges, who didn’t grow up with impossible visions. Adam Parrish didn’t have the luxury of friends.

All he ever wanted was to be normal. His actual life was impossible, so _normal_ was what seemed impossible to him. As he grew up, his wants grew up with him, and he dreamed not only of normalcy but of meager success. His past might be filled with horror, but if he tried hard enough he just might be able to escape it for something better. He knew he was smart, and could work hard, and had the discipline to make a decent life for himself, far away from the dusty roads littered with the dead.

If only the dead would stop following him.


	2. Something Ominous (but Vague) This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this one out quickly since the first chapter was really just a big block of adam parrish 101…I mean I, personally, would happily read nothing but adam’s internal monologuing about stuff. but there is more to the world than that. allegedly.

**From: pgreenmantle@cwater.com**

**bcc: lynch@cwater.com**

**Subject: New project!!**

_Hey team,_

_We got the new park in NoMa! Congrats all who worked on the bid. Primary design team will be Adam and Ronan on this one. You can go ahead and set up a meeting to start talking specifics. Let me know as you progress._

_This is a big one, guys. SO excited!!!_

_Cheers,_

_Piper_

It was 9:34 on a Monday morning, and Ronan Lynch was once again marveling at how much he loved his job.

_Primary design team will be Adam and Ronan on this one._

He had been assigned to a project with his work nemesis for the third time in three months, and he was _delighted_. Not because he liked Adam Parrish, of course. Ronan just happened to be an asshole who took pleasure in any and all opportunity to continue being an asshole.

He knew exactly why they kept getting paired together. Parrish was pretty brilliant, despite having the creative instincts (and the personality) of a wet blanket. The firm’s other engineers tended to fuck with his designs until they were completely unrecognizable. Needless to say, they were never changed for the better, inevitably ending up as god-awful cardboard copy factory-produced-looking nonsense. Parrish was the only one who could coax them carefully and properly into being, looking like they had been pulled from Ronan’s head fully formed.

So, yeah. He was generally pleased to be working with Adam Parrish.

Driving the guy crazy along the way was just a fun little perk.

After he received that morning’s email, he popped his head into Parrish’s office. The man in question had his head down on his desk, as if he were sleeping. Well, if he slept face-down. Maybe he was dead.

“Hey, d’you hear the good news?” Ronan asked, loudly, to make sure he didn’t have to call the coroner. “Greenmantle said we got the Florida Avenue park project.”

Parrish lifted his head wearily, and replied, “Yeah. I was on the same email you were. Obviously.”

He sounded distinctly not thrilled with the assignment. Typical. Nothing thrilled Adam Parrish. The man was unthrillable.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already got some ideas and you’re definitely gonna hate all of them,” Ronan said, throwing in a sly grin for good measure.

“Lynch, come on, it’s a _park_. How on earth are you going to mess up trees and benches?”

“You’ll see!” he replied brightly in a sing-song voice.

When there was no reply, he continued, “Plus, she seems super excited about it, and you know that always means she’ll let me go hog wild. So you’ll probably have to do whatever I say.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, because he knew that would get a reaction.

For some reason, he couldn’t stop pushing Adam Parrish’s buttons. Probably because he was so goddamned buttoned up. There were just so many options, a veritable smorgasbord of buttons on display to select from. And whatever Ronan’s strengths might be, maintaining a strong grip on his impulse control functions was decidedly _not_ one of them.

Parrish closed his eyes and pinched the skin between his brows with thumb and middle finger, sighing deeply. _Success_. This was the gesture Ronan had been aiming for. Not only was it his favorite, but he also may have had a bingo sheet hidden in his desk drawer dedicated to Adam Parrish’s Faces of Irritation, and he was pretty sure that just notched him a win.

Ronan also thought he saw a faint blush tinge the other man’s cheeks, but that was probably his overactive imagination.

He would never, ever admit this out loud to anyone else, but fantastical designs weren’t the only regular output from the creative centers of his mind. They also made a pretty routine habit of admiring the curve of Adam Parrish’s cheekbones, cataloguing the line of his jaw (especially stark when it was clenched in a desperate attempt to rein in frustration), imagining what the length of his fingers might be capable of…

His brain managed this all on its own, of course. Ronan definitely didn’t encourage these tangents. Stolid, rule-abiding, fun-sucking Adam Parrish was still a nerd of the highest degree. He just also happened to be unfairly pretty. Especially when Ronan managed to needle an actual expression onto his face.

That wasn’t the reason for Ronan’s behavior, though. Of course not. As previously established, he was just an asshole.

__________

Late Wednesday morning, it was Parrish’s turn to stick his head into Ronan’s office.

“Hey, Lynch. Do you have the street plans for the new site?”

“Nah, Greenmantle hasn’t given me anything yet.”

“How do you have ideas already, then?”

“I don’t need blueprints to visualize putting a park where there is currently a fast food restaurant.”

“Is there?” he asked in mild surprise. “See, I don’t know anything about the place.”

Ronan gasped theatrically. “Are you telling me you’ve never been to Dave Thomas Circle?”

“No-oo?” Parrish said it like a question. A deeply, deeply sarcastic question. “I really don’t need to, though. Unlike some people, I actually use the proper physical plans for my work.”

Ugh. The guy was so condescending.

 _I use blueprints to do my work. I love levels and compasses and yelling at people about math._ Like, fuck all the way off. Ronan could do geometry too. He just chose not to if he could help it.

“Okay one, the internet exists, you could just google map the cross streets. But two, you shouldn’t just google it because it’s not gonna work in this case. You cannot work on this project—nay, you cannot truly _live_ , until you experience the absolute chaotic marvel that is this place in person.”

Parrish looked unconvinced, not to mention unimpressed, with Ronan’s dramatics.

Well, then. He’d just have to try harder.

He stood up abruptly and decided, “Come on. Let’s go on a field trip.”

__________

Ronan parked his BMW a couple blocks away from their destination. It was a little too warm to walk more than a block or two in comfort, but he wanted Parrish to get the full visual before enduring the helter-skelter driving experience. He might occasionally go a little over the top to make a point, but he wasn’t actually kidding about the utter anarchy of this particular spot in the city.

He watched the other man’s face with gleeful anticipation as they approached New York Avenue.

“Oh my god, this is the site?”

“Yup,” Ronan popped the last letter for emphasis.

“It’s…a monstrosity. Who designed this intersection?” Parrish sounded physically pained.

“Dunno, L’Enfant?” Ronan shrugged.

Parrish rolled his eyes. “I know you’re kidding, but I highly doubt this is his fault.”

“Hey, when you put a bunch of diagonal and straight streets on a map together, eventually you’re gonna get some weird shit where they all meet up. I’m not letting him off the hook just because he had horses in mind instead of the ninth circle of vehicular hell that we have now.”

“Seventh, more like,” Parrish said absently as they watched a pair of people dash across one of the gaping multi-street intersections that made up the triangle, nearly getting hit by a bicycle from one end and a car from the other. “The ninth circle is treachery. Seventh is violence.”

“Whatever,” Ronan retorted, pettily. The guy always had to be right. What was more annoying was that he actually was right, and Ronan should have known that. He just wasn’t expecting Adam Parrish to be familiar with Dante.

A minivan attempted a messy and deeply illegal u-turn when the driver apparently realized that he could only turn one way. Another lane had a line of cars that were all attempting to change lanes into oncoming bumper-to-bumper traffic. Honks and screeches rent the air.

“It’s horrible,” Parrish said faintly.

Ronan laughed and replied, “I can’t believe you’ve never been here before. Truly one of the most cursed places in the city. I knew it’d get under your orderly logical little engineering skin.”

“Christ. I can’t look away.”

“Hence the need for a redesign. Anyways, shall we?”

“What?”

Ronan gestured obviously across the street to the lonely Wendy’s in the middle of the expansive triangle. “This was a lunch field trip.”

“But…how do we even get there?”

“Oh don’t worry, there are like five inefficient pedestrian crossings we can use. Or we can just take our chances and run.”

Parrish flatly refused to run into oncoming traffic, so they stopped at the crossing. He continued to analyze the chaos around them as the signal turned and they walked toward the restaurant.

“Wait, so if you’re driving that way on Florida, you have to turn, and then turn again, and then…but why isn’t it just converted fully into a roundabout instead of a gazillion mushed together intersections? Who could know what lane they’re supposed to be in? Who the hell put a single Wendy’s on an island in the middle of all this? Why can’t they—"

“Dude. Stop trying to make it make sense. You’ll give yourself an aneurysm. Just come eat some nuggets.”

Inside, the restaurant was like some bizarre oasis. A greasy eye in the center of a twisted metal and concrete hurricane. There were a few other customers, but it was strangely quiet after going through the turmoil outside. It was like walking into a soap bubble. The air pressed in on their ears. A baby cried in the corner, and even that sound seemed somehow muted. A light flickered overhead.

They ordered their lunches. Ronan ended up with a fuckton (the proper name for the collective) of spicy nuggets, obviously. Parrish got a plain chicken sandwich.

As they sat down at a plastic brightly colored booth, Parrish asked, “So what’s going to happen to this place, anyways?”

“If the city doesn’t manage to buy it out, as far as I know they’re gonna invoke eminent domain. So poor Wendy’s days are numbered either way.” Ronan patted the sticky table in front of him sadly.

Adam hummed in response. Riveting conversation partner, he was. They ate. The baby in the corner cried again, while its mother tried to hush it with a spoonful of chocolate frosty.

Ronan stuffed several nuggets into his mouth at once. “God, I love poor people food. This probably isn’t your scene normally, though, right? You probably only eat organic twenty-five dollar cardboard kale salads with, like, tiny slivers of sun-toasted almonds and fancy fucking cheese.”

Parrish’s face became, if possible, even more expressionless than his usual bland default. He gently set the french fry he was holding back onto the tray in front of him and wiped his fingers on a napkin.

“You’re such an asshole,” he said. It was all the more cutting for its blank assessment. Not malicious, not angry, just—a fact of life. He was an asshole.

“What?” Ronan asked, his mouth full. “I wasn’t making fun of poor people, I said I love their food. What’s wrong with that?”

Abruptly, Parrish got up from the plastic table. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna metro back to the office. I’ll see you later.”

“God, what’s your problem? So touchy.”

Parrish turned away, leaving nothing but a middle finger carefully pointed behind him. Again, the gesture seemed so much colder because it was so calmly and deliberately deployed. Ronan shivered uncomfortably.

When Ronan fought with his older brother (which he did often and with great relish) it was always a grand expressive affair. There was yelling and gesticulating and cursing, and usually ended in black eyes and bloody noses. Ronan was comfortable with these overt kinds of antagonism.

He sometimes thought that he and Parrish had that type of relationship, too. Without the physical part, of course, but their barbed words and short tempers often veered into familiar territory. But every once in a while, when he tossed out his ammo, he’d get… _absolutely_ _nothing_ in return. It was unnerving.

It bothered him the rest of the day. He kept thinking back to that blank mask falling over Parrish’s face, like someone boarding up window shutters to defend against a terrible storm on the horizon. He shivered again.

__________  
  


Ronan arrived home that evening to a typical cacophony. The three-story rowhouse he owned in Eastern Market wasn’t large by normal non-city standards (the main house at the Barns property down south was practically a mansion compared to this place), but it was still pretty spacious for one person to live in alone. Luckily for him, he was rarely alone.

As he unlocked the door, there was a loud _ruff!_ from the direction of the kitchen and Clancy, the recently arrived pit-boxer-whatever-else-mix ran awkwardly through the hallway to greet him, slipping and stumbling on overlarge paws. He scratched behind the puppy’s ears, making him whine excitedly, and moved through the entryway to set his keys down in a bowl near the stairs.

“Evening, Sprout,” he greeted the little blonde girl seated on a large pillow at the front bay window, curled up like some other small pet and reading a battered paperback. She jumped up.

“Kerah! You’re home!”

He ruffled her head fondly. “Would you stop calling me that? You don’t need to speak bird on top of Italian and Latin. Soon I’m not going to be able to understand you at all.”

As if on cue, a large ink-black raven flew down to land on his shoulder, also croaking, “Kerah!”

Ronan smiled, and gently stroked the feathers on the side of the bird’s head. “Now you, on the other hand, could stand to learn a little Italian. That’d be a pretty sweet party trick.” The bird cawed again, not in Italian, and flapped back to a perch in the corner.

He heard another voice call his name from deeper in the house. He walked through the open kitchen to find his father sitting on his couch in the living room, feet up on the coffee table.

“Hey. Got the whole welcoming crew here tonight,” Ronan said, unsurprised.

“You know this house thrives on a little life. I hate imagining you in here on your own. You should think about getting a roommate.”

“I have Opal,” Ronan reminded him.

“Sure, but that’s not what I mean.” The man got up and walked over to lean on the kitchen island. Ronan set bags of takeout onto the island counter and began unpacking the plastic boxes as his father continued, “When’s the last time you dated anyone? You should have someone around you can talk to. Someone your own age. Someone—"

“Dad. Give it a rest,” Ronan cut him off. “I see people often enough. I practically can’t get rid of Gansey, anyways. Just tell me why you’re here. Something up?”

“What, I can’t just drop in and see my boy now and again?”

Ronan rolled his eyes.

“Sure, you could. But do you ever?”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right. I could stand to visit more just to say hello.” Ronan shrugged in acknowledgment as he opened one of the boxes to examine the contents.

Niall continued, “But yes, actually, I did want to warn you about something this time. I’m hearing some strange rumblings about a big player in town. Some new guy. Or maybe not new, but at the very least it’s someone making a big new move. Might be related to a boundary of some sort.”

When nothing more was forthcoming, Ronan laughed and turned back to his takeout containers.

“Well, thanks very much for that wealth of information. I’ll get right on it.”

“You know how these things work by now, Ronan. I don’t have a lot of detail to share, I’m sorry. The only word on the street, as it were, was about a boundary ‘ _hombre’._ So I dunno, maybe he’s a Spanish speaker?”

“A foreign dude at a boundary. Okay. Fine. I’ll keep my ears peeled. Like corn. Happy?”

“To be the bearer of bad news? No. To see you, yes. Always.”

“Stay for dinner?” Ronan pointed a chopstick at his box of Szechuan noodles. Niall Lynch laughed at that, and rubbed Ronan’s scalp, attempting to ruffle the barely existent hair.

“When are you gonna grow this out again, huh? Don’t you think you’re over your little teenage rebellion phase yet?”

“Ugh, leave me alone. Go be mysterious somewhere else.”

This was getting to be a frustratingly normal part of his routine. Well, if anything regarding his father could be considered normal. Niall Lynch would show up out of the blue, impart some cryptic warning about sketchy things he heard through the sketchy grapevines he spent his time around these days, and Ronan would inevitably be the one left dealing with it. Whatever it might be.

Honestly, Niall’s behavior was far more tedious now that Ronan was an adult. He hadn’t often been around when Ronan was growing up, but at least when he’d pop back into town in those days, he was usually carrying fun presents instead of ominous bits of gossip.

Ah, well. Even if this wasn’t exactly the life he’d imagined for himself, at least it wasn’t boring. He supposed things could always be worse.

Ronan turned back to his dinner, grabbing a noodle to feed to Chainsaw, and didn’t hear his father leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags weren't kidding about the niche dc shit going into this story. but hey, if mstief can center an entire plot around a single overlook platform at great falls, I can make some jokes about dave thomas circle.
> 
>  **up next** : the plot thickens (or…begins, really, now that the intros are out of the way)


	3. The Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild cw for this chapter for blood, death, and jogging

Adam had recently started running. He read somewhere that physical activity was one of the best ways to manage stress, and he figured that he could always stand to be a little more in shape. He wasn’t nearly as scrawny as he used to be, but he was still uncomfortably aware of how years of undernourishment had left a lingering mark on his lung capacity, and his body was quick to lose muscle as well as fat if he didn’t pay attention to his calorie intake. Running seemed like an easy two-birds-with-one-stone hobby to take up.

He also kind of liked the idea of being the type of guy who was A Runner. Not the serious type that regularly signed up for marathons; those people were certifiably nuts. But he could be someone who was disciplined and put-together and enjoyed hard work just for the satisfaction of a job well done, who woke up early to do something healthy and invigorating. Physical demands on his body for recreation, rather than the necessity of some back-breaking factory job to pay the bills, was one of those peculiar luxuries that he both sneered at and desperately wanted to engage in without a second thought.

_“What do you do for fun?”_

_“Oh, I quite enjoy a brisk morning run before I go into the office.”_

A signal to those in power that he was just the same as them. Hard-working, but in the respectable kind of way, not the way that kept dirt underneath his fingernails and cash in a shoebox below his bed. Yet another marker on the road to success. Not necessary, perhaps, but if Adam had limited himself to doing only what was necessary and no more, he never would have gotten this far.

He didn’t bargain for the fact that running…sucked, actually. It was _hard_ and _boring_ and, quite frankly, murder on his joints. Not to mention the act of waking up earlier than he actually needed to was his own personal CIA black ops-level torture. But if he wasn’t someone who could enjoy hard physical work at the ass-crack of dawn for nothing, he was at the very least a stubborn motherfucker, so he doggedly kept to his new hobby anyways. Just not in the morning. He tried that once and only once. Never again.

After the disastrous lunch excursion with Lynch, he had once again spent the rest of his workday keyed up and desperate for some way to channel his frustration. He couldn’t say exactly what it was about Ronan Lynch that got stuck under his skin so indelibly. He had met other thoughtless and irritating people before and could brush them off without a problem. But no matter how much he tried to reason with his own brain that the guy wasn’t worth the energy, he inevitably found himself ruminating on their fights.

 _Poor people food_.

That was the catalyst, this time. Tossed out so casually, like he had once heard of the concept of _poor people_ , but had never, not once in his life, actually even met one. Let alone would ever have felt a yawning hunger in his gut alongside the knowledge that there was no way to sate it. Or the ever present bone-deep weariness that came from spending all day at one job simply to go straight to the next. Ronan Lynch was not the type of person who could understand the utter and complete hopelessness that came with accepting that each day would be exactly the same as the day before. That nothing would ever change. That you were destined to live forever in the muck, with the Sisyphean exhaustion, the hunger, the violence, the desperate and unyielding _want_ for everything that you would never be good enough to have.

 _Poor people food_. Adam was used to comments like these. He was happy, in fact, that other people didn’t understand those things. And especially that they didn’t link those things to Adam himself. That was the way he had wanted it, after all. To dig himself out of the hole, leave all of it behind, and have no one be the wiser. It was just—sometimes it was all too much to swallow with a smile.

Hence the need for an outlet. He was willing to try anything and everything at this point. Currently he’d narrowed down his options to a lengthy trail run or, like, finding someone to sell him some ketamine. So after work (and before he made some really regrettable decisions) he put on his tennis shoes and his headphones and headed to the nearest trail in Rock Creek Park.

The summer air outside his apartment was warm and stagnant, still stuck between the pavement and the concrete and the buildings that criss-crossed the neighborhoods leading to the park. It would be hours yet before the setting sun would finally allow some measure of cool air to settle into the cracks. But the moment he got to the wood’s edge and started down the first hill into the valley he felt like he could breathe properly again.

Adam queued up a podcast about poisons and started up a leisurely jog as the trees enclosed comfortingly around him. They were at their fullest this time of year, and a bright green canopy soared over his head, causing the temperature to drop several degrees almost immediately. The dirt below his feet was lush and dark from soaking up the season’s humid air and the occasional warm rainfall.

Valley Trail was a winding rocky path up the heart of the national park, itself a quiet oasis cutting straight through the stifling city. Of course, the wood wasn’t actually secluded; nowhere in D.C. was completely free of people. If Adam ever stopped to listen on these runs, he could usually hear the occasional car from the road below, or occasional footfalls and murmurs of conversation from others on the path just out of sight. But these sounds of the city were now intercut with the crunching of the forest floor, the chirping of birds in the branches, and soft rustling of the leaves swept by passing breezes.

Adam had always deeply loved the woods. There was probably something psychological in it, stemming back to his childhood surrounded by cracked and weedy dirt roads and dusty fields, a flat yellow-brown horizon as far as he could walk. The gently rolling fuzzy green mountains in the distance, with their cool blue mist and dark dreamy magic, had called to him like a siren just as strongly as his dreams of a chrome-and-steel life in a gleaming city did. They were two completely separate environments on the surface, perhaps. But they were linked in their total separation to the life he knew, and knew he despised. He had managed to strike a compromise these days by surrounding himself with greenery in his apartment and spending time with the greenery of the city as often as he could.

It might have been a mere facsimile of the true solitude he grew up with, in those blue forests of the Shenandoah where a person could disappear and not see another soul for hours, but it wasn’t nothing. There was just something so immediately calming about even this brief and superficial dip into the woods. Every time he lost himself on these paths, he reconsidered the tentative plans to move downtown and started wondering if he could maybe just move straight into the park itself.

He had been running in his pseudo-wilderness haven for about twenty minutes when the violence of the real world crashed back in around him. The voice in his ear was in the middle of describing all the biological consequences of ingesting monkshood as he turned a corner, reaching the bottom of a dry stream bed. The ground was scattered with pebbles and dotted with larger boulders, and he was forced to slow down to pick his way carefully through the rocks. As he looked up toward the inclining trail ahead, deciding how far he wanted to continue to reach a halfway point before turning back, he stumbled over a log on the path.

A soft log.

No, that wasn’t right. It was an outstretched _leg_.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” he demanded urgently, automatically.

His mouth had moved faster than his brain could understand why there would be a leg splayed across the trail, half hidden by the protruding rocks. There was no response to his question. Adam was all at once relieved to see that the leg was attached to a body. The feeling ended abruptly as his eyes followed the length of the leg up to where the rest of the body lay.

The reason there was no answer was that the body was clearly very, _very_ dead.

It turned out this run was not going to improve his mood after all.

Seeing a lifeless body was far more of a shock to his system than he’d expected.

For as many ghosts as Adam had seen in his life, this was his first dead body. Surprising, given— _no_. He wasn’t going to think about that. His past was just that: past. No use dwelling on that. Even if his current present, consisting of a very dead person with a very obvious cause of death on the ground in front of him, brought back memories that were always uncomfortably close to the surface.

His immediate instinct was flight. He desperately tried to catch his breath and calm his legs, willing them to stay still while his rational mind caught up to the hair-trigger haywire threat response system. This was distressing (which, understatement of the century), but not immediately dangerous. The adrenaline coursing through him gave him the feeling that he was divorced from his body. All of his nerves were jumping and everything seemed overbright. The world tunneled in on him. He turned around and took five deep, slow breaths. He slowly, carefully turned back around to face it— _him_.

It— _he_ looked to be about Adam’s age, somewhere in his twenties, with a shock of pale blond hair shockingly matted with rust-red blood. The stain had spread to cover the ground around him, and a thick trail had smeared down the boulder he was partially propped against. His skin was marble and his open eyes were disturbingly empty. Like Adam, he was wearing running clothes and had headphones around his neck. Adam could still hear the faint tinny echo of music through the headphones.

It must have been quite recent, then, this tragedy. Well, of course it was, or someone else would have found him already. But no. It had turned out to be Adam’s lucky day.

He suddenly realized that he needed to do something about it. He couldn’t just stand there staring. Or not staring. Or desperately avoiding looking, while his mind raced furiously away from touching any concrete thoughts, like a hand from a hot stove. He fumbled for his cell phone to call 911.

As he waited for help to arrive, he wondered how it was that he, of all people, had to bear this burden. _Why_ was no one else passing by? He normally passed plenty of other runners, joggers, and dog-walkers on his runs. Sure, it was hot out and it was a mid-week evening, not the most popular time for a jog, but still. Adam had never felt so alone on the trail as he did right then, as one of two bodies facing each other, yet a single life to share between them.

Finally, he heard a commotion coming down the trail behind him.

“Over here!” he yelled out. Thank _god_ , this nightmare would be over soon.

He met a pair of police officers at the bottom of the hill. They were trailed by a team of paramedics and a stretcher. He was pretty clear on the phone that he didn’t think resuscitation would be an option, but he figured they always came prepared just in case. And he supposed a couple of people would be needed to carry it— _him_ —out of the woods.

“Evening,” the first officer said. “You call in?”

“Y—yeah,” Adam cleared his throat. “It—he’s over there.” He pointed vaguely behind him, not wanting to follow the motion with his eyes. The officer craned her neck to glance beyond Adam’s shoulder and then motioned for her partner to go investigate further.

“Name?”

“Mine?” Adam asked vaguely, distractedly.

“Yes.”

“Adam. Adam Parrish.”

“Okay, Adam. I’m Officer George, that’s Officer Olamina. I need to ask you a few questions before we let you go.”

Adam nodded. Behind him he heard the emergency response team start to shift things around. He tried to ignore the sounds, otherwise he’d begin to think about what was moving, and what was not.

“Can I ask your relationship with the deceased?” She asked, not unkindly.

“What? Oh. I don’t know him. I was just running, and I tripped over it—him.”

“You two weren’t running together? You’ve never seen him before?”

“No. Never.” Adam glanced briefly back at the face again before the paramedics covered the body up, and then looked away, sick. He was almost positive he had never seen the man before in his life. The officer glanced again beyond his shoulder, and her partner must have signaled something to her, because she nodded.

She turned back to Adam to ask, “Did you see anyone else on the trail this evening?”

“Um,” he thought for a second. “I don’t think so. It seems pretty empty tonight. I usually see more people around.”

“No one else at all? Any voices? Or how about outside the park around the trail entrance?”

“I’m not sure, maybe there was—yeah, a couple walking a dog out of the trail exit as I was going in. But otherwise, no one.”

“Okay, and any other sounds? Conversation you might have overheard? Maybe raised voices, like an argument?”

“No, I had my headphones in, and I can only hear out of one ear anyways. So not that I re—wait. Does that mean you guys think this might not have been an accident? I thought—because he was against the rock, that he must have just fallen and hit his head.”

“Maybe,” she hedged, unconvinced. “Pretty rare for that type of fall to be so immediately fatal. There usually isn’t enough force in a fall from standing to crack a head open like that.”

The dispassionate discussion of such a violent act, even a passive one like an accidental fall, caused Adam’s stomach to roil alarmingly again. He very carefully did not look back to the sheet that was now draping the body.

“So yes, it’s possible, but he’d need to have had extraordinarily bad luck,” the officer continued. Bad luck. Sure. Adam could relate.

“Oh,” he responded, slightly stupidly. He really had no idea what else to say. The entire world again felt oversaturated and fuzzy, like these were the events of some bizarre dream that he wouldn’t remember tomorrow.

“We’d do best to keep all our options open at this point. That’s not to say that you’re a suspect, but we will need to get your information to make sure we can keep in touch.”

“Of—of course,” Adam agreed automatically. He was too numb to worry about that in a threatening way. His mind was far away, stuck on another fall in another time.

_He could feel the rough carpet beneath his bare feet. The crackling air, sour-tinged alcohol overlaying the crisp smell of ozone. The throbbing in his head, the sharp pain in his ribs with every breath, the flames licking down the muscles in his arms. He could not see any blood. There may not have been any blood to see before he collapsed._

Adam came back to himself, suddenly. The air in the present was thick and cloying around him, and he struggled to take a clear breath. He furiously tamped down on all of the minute and varied rebellious acts of his body, willing his stomach to calm, his nerves to stop jumping, his breathing to slow. He gave himself a small shake and donned his competent and unflappable outer layer.

“Was there anything else I can do to help, officer? Otherwise, I’d better be getting home before it gets too dark.”

There. That sounded normal. He was fine. Everything would be fine.

The officers let him leave after he gave them his contact information and flatly refused a ride home. Several hundred yards away, out of sight of the bustling efficiency of the aftermath of death, he veered off the path to vomit behind an oak tree.

Despite the heat outside, Adam felt a chill settle deep into his bones as he got back to his apartment and set his key down on the counter. The adrenaline had gotten him home, but now that he had stopped moving, he was sort of at a loss. He had been giving himself basic two-word commands to follow (“walk now”; “turn here”; “get key”; “open door”), and suddenly there was nothing more to accomplish.

He mindlessly shuffled over to the kitchen and set water boiling (“make tea”—that seemed right), while Moxie figure-eighted around his legs, mewling piteously (“feed cat”—that he could also do).

After he fed the cat and boiled the tea, he got into the shower. The steaming spray pounded out the tension in his shoulders and the base of his skull, and he stayed in until his hands pruned and the water became tepid and unbearable. As he shuffled into his bedroom to curl under a pile of blankets, Moxie curled even tighter into a fuzzy pile in the hollow of his neck, he finally let himself relax into oblivion.

Unnoticed by either man or cat asleep in the bedroom, a tiny breeze swept through the apartment on the other side of the door, and the loose floorboard by the dining table creaked, as if from a gentle footfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adam, channeling ann perkins, channeling me: jogging is the worst. I know it keeps you healthy, but god, at what cost?!
> 
> anyways, sorry for the extra trauma buddy :( and sorry for having to kill a certain blond boy again :( and sorry readers, this one was a little bleak. next chapter should be up soon tho!
> 
>  **up next:** someone’s been dead for ~~seven years~~ a day and wants people to know about it.


	4. The Spirit

Needless to say, Adam found it difficult to function normally the next day. He slept terribly, and he somehow managed to spill an entire box of Cheerios all over the counter as he was trying to make breakfast, and his apartment was weirdly freezing so he forgot what time of year it was and wore a coat out the door and had to turn around to put it back and then missed his usual train.

His concentration at work was somehow worse. He was a little annoyed by his own inability to compartmentalize, although he also kind of figured that anyone who could concentrate at work the day after literally stumbling over a body in the woods was probably a psychopath. It was at least good to know that he hadn’t (yet) developed any psychopathic tendencies. His thoughts kept flitting back and forth between memories of a bright red stain on rocks, a glassy dolls-eye stare, and a body-shaped shroud on a stretcher. His stomach once again rebelled weakly.

Yeah, he’d definitely make a terrible serial killer.

The day inevitably passed, and the clock ticked by slowly, slowly. He tried putting on some music. Then he tried putting on background noise. His usual generic coffeeshop sounds didn’t work, nor did a thunderstorm, nor did a gentle babbling brook. It got so bad that he even considered trying Lynch’s workplace electronica or death metal. He had always marveled at the fact that the other man ever got anything done with that racket, but now he wondered vaguely if it might actually serve as a decent way to drown out unpleasant thoughts. His brain was definitely far louder than his own music choices, at the moment.

He felt a chill. Through his window to the outside he could see the blinding sun reflecting off the pavement, causing the very air to shimmer with heat. It was a million degrees and a thousand percent humidity (give or take), which of course meant the A/C had switched to blasting arctic polar temperatures in the office and the damn vent in the ceiling above his desk was working overtime. He shivered. Summer in D.C. was truly a miserable experience inside or out.

He felt a stronger chill. The papers on his desk ruffled as the breeze kicked up. He abandoned his poor attempt at work and stood (carefully) on his swivel chair to close the vent over his head. The chair rolled underneath him and he barely caught himself on the lip of the desk before he could faceplant onto the carpet. Okay, maybe not the best idea he’d ever had. He wished he had brought that coat to work after all.

A walk break would probably warm him up. It might even give his brain a jumpstart back into normal concentration mode. He decided to go get some coffee from the Pret A Manger a block away.

As soon as he left the room, his office door slammed behind him. Stupid vent.

The over-bright sun slanted into the eyes of everyone he passed going the opposite way as he walked down the street. It made them all look sinister, squinting and sneering in his direction.

He felt—observed.

He couldn’t shake the feeling even when he got back to his desk. But he was acceptably warmed by the sun, the stroll, and the coffee, so he made a passable attempt at buckling down. He had barely begun responding to an email when the paper cup decided to tip over, spilling hot liquid directly into his lap.

“The fuck!” He yelled, jumping up out of the puddle.

He quickly grabbed a fistful of tissues from the box on his desk and started swiping at his pants in an unsuccessful attempt to get the drink out before it left too much of a stain. It was at least a good thing the cup had decided to spill toward him instead of toward his computer, but he really wished he kept a spare set of pants in the office. The most he could conjure was a spare tie he used to spruce up for the occasional formal meeting.

The filing cabinet in the corner rattled.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell?” he asked the empty room irritably. “The A/C cannot be this strong.”

In response, the cabinet doors started alternating opening and slamming shut.

His stomach dropped out of his middle to land somewhere around of his feet.

 _Oh shit_.

He knew what these signs meant. He had probably known all along, deep down. He was—not alone. This wasn’t an air conditioning system gone amok, this was a goddamn _haunting_.

His papers ruffled again in the nonexistent wind. His computer opened Spotify and started playing “What’s My Age Again?”

God. _Really_? He was decidedly not in the mood for either paranormal shenanigans or pop punk. Enough was enough.

“Hey!” he called out, softly but firmly. “You made your point! Now quit it.”

His mood made no difference to the entity. This was made obvious in the next second, when all of the noises ceased, all of the lights flicked off, and the impression—a mere shadow—of a standing figure materialized on the carpet in front of him. The presence was more of an absence, actually. Like a person-shaped hole had been carved out of the air. The figure-shaped thing was abruptly knocked forward by something Adam couldn’t see, and it fell onto the carpet, apparently convulsing.

This was extremely distressing to watch, in Adam’s opinion.

After about seven minutes (an _eternity_ ), the limb-shaped shadows ceased to jerk and the entire figure flickered once, twice, then disappeared.

The lights came back on. All was quiet.

Adam sat perfectly still, staring at the spot on the carpet where the impression of a body had just been, bracing himself for the next spiritual attack.

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Longer. Longer. The silence and stillness went on for so long that Adam had almost let himself believe that the ghost had gone for real, when—

BANG!

His filling cabinet tipped over entirely onto its side.

He heard exclamations from outside in the main workspace. A knock came at his door.

“Everything all right in there, Adam?” someone (Marie, one of the interns, he was pretty sure) asked.

“Yeah, sorry for the commotion!” Adam called back immediately, rushing over to the cabinet. “I accidentally tipped my filing cabinet over. I think I loaded the upper drawers too much, turned out a little top-heavy.”

“Oh, okay! Need help picking anything up?”

“No!” he said too quickly. “I’ve got a system. I’m all good here, thanks!”

He hurriedly righted the thing himself, and then more softly, called out again to his empty office.

“Hey! Are you still there?” he asked the air. “Are you able to show yourself?”

At long last, the ghost materialized in full corporeal form. It was the young blond runner from the day before, naturally. He should have guessed that this specter would haunt him, even beyond the psychological damage he was bound to get from finding the body.

“Having fun, are you?” he asked dryly. Now that the spirit was just a man, Adam was feeling less spooked than irritated.

“Sorry,” the man whispered. “I’m—I’m not really sure what I’m doing here? Or what I’m doing at all…who are you?”

The ghost sounded lost, and confused, and very small. Adam suddenly felt selfish. Here he was, feeling sorry for himself about how terrible the past couple of days had been for _him_ , and this poor guy had literally just died. He figured if nothing else, he could at least be nice.

“Adam. And you are?”

“Noah. Czerny. Do you maybe know why I’m here? In this—is this an office?”

“Yeah. This is my office. Um. You’re…dead. Sorry. To break it to you like this, I guess. Do you remember going for a run in Rock Creek Park yesterday? I found your body there.”

Adam was realizing that he was really, really not good at this. Whatever this was. It was a pretty unique situation. But being the only one in the entire world who had to break the news to dead people that they were dead didn’t make him an expert at the task, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, he was probably worse at it because he had never had anyone to learn from. Adam always did best when he could observe and copy skills from others. Creating his own blueprint for how to behave was not really his forte.

“You found my—holy shit. I’m dead.”

“Yeahh…sorry, man. Again.”

“What the fuck!” the ghost— _Noah_ —yelled. The wind _whooshed_ again and all of the papers on Adam’s desk scattered onto the floor.

“Do you mind?” Adam asked, suddenly irritated again. He felt bad for the guy, sure, but throwing a tantrum wasn’t going to solve any problems.

Noah’s face was a mask of despair. He looked at Adam for one long moment and then, in the blink of an eye, disappeared. He did not return.

__________

By Friday morning, Adam was tentatively wondering whether the ghost had left for good. Maybe this had been a brief, temporary haunting. It was unlikely, but everything with supernatural entities was a little unlikely and a lot unpredictable. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was cautiously optimistic, however. Adam wasn’t one for optimism, generally. He was more one for being right, and in his experience, you were more likely to be right if you didn’t expect the best outcome out of a situation. He still felt bad about the whole thing, but now he also felt guilty that he was feeling relieved that he hadn’t seen Noah since the day before. Which made him feel even worse.

All in all, the day wasn’t turning out to be much better than the past couple had been.

Of course, as he started to think that he might actually be left alone, Noah popped back up again. It wasn’t so much of a _pop_ as a flicker of movement out of the corner of Adam’s eye, and when he turned his head to look, Noah was standing there looking out the window. Adam started and then sighed internally. Once again, he was proven right. Optimism never pans out.

“Oh,” he said. “Hey again, Noah.”

Noah nodded at him and continued to gaze down at the street below.

“Can I help you?” Adam asked, trying not to make the words sound as tired as he felt.

“I don’t know. Can you?” Noah asked. The words were some bizarre echo of a mocking teacher trying to make a pupil use the word _may_ , but Adam didn’t think that was they way it was meant. Noah seemed to sincerely be asking if Adam could help him. Adam didn’t really know how to respond. He thought for a moment.

“I don’t know either,” he landed on. “What do you need help with?”

“I don’t think your cat likes me,” Noah mused.

“ _That’s_ what you need help—wait, you’ve been in my apartment?” Adam felt a chill run down his spine. God, he never got used to how creepy ghosts could be.

“Well, yeah. Ever since I—woke up, or whatever, I’ve been drawn to you. I’ve kind of been following you around,” he said in a mildly apologetic tone.

 _Figures_ , Adam thought.

“Why?” he decided to ask. It was probably best to be blunt.

“I’m new to this. I don’t know what I’m doing! I thought you might know.”

“Well, I don’t. Look, can we do this later? I’m at work so I kind of actually need to get some work done.”

Noah didn’t respond. He also didn’t leave, however. After a bit, Adam decided that was compromise enough, and turned back to his computer screen. It was a little weird having another person sit silently in the empty chair by his large design table while he tried to go about his normal day, but at least the guy wasn’t mentally throwing things around the room anymore.

Now that he was corporeal and acting more like a normal human being, the enormity of Noah’s death seemed somehow lessened. Adam was still finding it difficult to concentrate on any one task for long, but now instead being distracted by thoughts of his blank-void stare and bloody head wound, it was because Noah kept looking curiously over his shoulder and pacing around the room. This was less distressing, absolutely, so Adam thought he shouldn't push it, even if he was a little annoyed.

Around lunchtime, Adam’s boss knocked on his door and stuck her high blonde ponytailed head in to look at him brightly. She had an annoying habit of popping into various office doors around the building rather than just sending emails. Adam wasn’t sure whether she did it to make sure they weren’t slacking off, to keep everyone on their toes, or just to show off her extensive business chic wardrobe. She was very pretty, very perky, and very put-together, yet there was something that had always unnerved Adam about the entire package. It was probably the pep. Adam didn’t know what to do with pep.

“Wow, check out her shoes. Pointy.” Noah said, eyeing her feet with some trepidation.

“Hey, Adam! I know you’re starting on the new park design—which, _great_ , can’t wait to see what you guys come up with—but I’m about to send over a laundry list of things that I need you to look over to finish up the library project. I don’t know if you just forgot or what—”

“Rude,” Noah interjected.

“—but if could you get that back to me by the end of the day, that would be fabulous. Okay, thanks so much, see you later!”

“Sure thing, Piper,” he called weakly at her retreating back as she marched jauntily away down the hall.

“She’s…” Noah started, then trailed off.

“Tell me about it,” Adam said wryly.

As soon as Adam received the list of things to do from Piper (and she hadn’t been kidding, it was a _long_ laundry list), he saw a direct message notification on slack.

 **# Ronan Lynch** 1:35 PM

yo got a thing for you to look over

 **# Adam Parrish** 1:36 PM

Okay, I’m a little swamped today. But send it over whenever and I’ll get to it when I can.

 **# Ronan Lynch** 1:36 PM

busy doing what? who could be more important than me and our girl wendy

 **# Adam Parrish** 1:42 PM

Seriously, Lynch. I will get to it when I am available.

 **# Ronan Lynch** 1:42 PM

touchy 😬

 **# Ronan Lynch** 1:46 PM

fine be that way

 **# Ronan Lynch** 1:46 PM

wendysgotnothingonthis.pdf

[click to open attachment]

Adam sighed, frustrated. He downloaded the attachment and stuck it at the bottom of his “to-do” folder.

By the end of the day, Noah had obviously grown bored with Adam ignoring him. He kept making comments and attempting to start up conversations. He had also found Adam’s stash of rubber balls in a desk drawer and was rhythmically bouncing one against the wall.

“So you do this often?”

Adam sighed. “Do what?”

“Talk to ghosts.”

“Occasionally.”

“That’s pretty dope. What do you talk about?”

“I guess whatever they want to. Ghosts are pretty insistent. Irritating, that way,” Adam said with a slight eyeroll. Noah didn’t seem to get the hint.

“But it must be so cool to hear their stories! Like, do you see really old ghosts? That actually lived during historical events and stuff?”

Adam was still trying to get to the last of the tasks that Piper had set him. He was so close to finishing, but Noah’s continual prattle was making his end of the day slip further and further out of sight. At this rate, he’d be here all night.

“Would you just _shut up_ , for a second??” Adam snapped at him.

“Rude, Parrish,” Lynch said, having just appeared in Adam’s doorway. Adam started guiltily.

“No, not yo—I mean, sorry, I’m just a little frazzled at the moment,” he backtracked, trying desperately to sound like everything was normal. The blinds on the window behind him rattled.

“Yeah, what else is new?” Lynch smirked.

“Shut up. Did you need something?” Adam didn’t think he could handle one more single solitary thing right now. Noah had abandoned the rubber ball and moved toward the blueprints on the large worktable on the other side of the room and started to unroll one curiously. Adam tried to signal him to cut it out without Lynch noticing. An impossible task, as the man was still looking directly at him, that trademark piercing gaze roving over every twitch of Adam’s hands and eyes.

“I can’t shut up and tell you what I need at the same time,” Lynch said infuriatingly. God, he was like a five year old sometimes. Noah laughed. Adam shot him a brief annoyed look.

“Shut up. And this time I really do mean it. I mean, _Christ_ , could you not give it a rest for _one second_? I changed my mind, I don’t really care what you need, just send an email. I do not have time for you right now.”

“Seriously, what crawled up your ass?”

“He’s pissed that I won’t leave him alone,” Noah chimed in cheerily.

Adam turned frantically to hush him again. He didn’t care what Lynch thought of him in general, but he also really didn’t care to get a reputation as the office weirdo. He knew right now it looked like he was either conversing with the air or yelling at himself. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Lynch laughed. “I know the feeling. We should form a club. Hey man, nice to meet you, I’m Ronan.”

Adam turned back to see Ronan Lynch, nodding at the ghost. Ronan Lynch, walking into the room, holding out his hand for the ghost to shake. Ronan Lynch, insufferably smug asshole extraordinaire, not only _looking at_ but also _speaking to_ and _touching_ Adam’s invisible, incorporeal visitor.

“Wait. You can SEE HIM?” Adam couldn’t make sense of what was happening. None of this was possible.

“Of course I can see him. What, you thought you were special?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who on earth could have seen that one coming?? not adam parrish, that’s for sure. (he should have read the previous chapter comments)
> 
>  **up next:** the beginnings of a truce? eh, maybe don’t hold your breath with these two.


	5. Alike in Dignity

Ronan Lynch was four years old when he realized that there was something about him that was not like his brothers. As he grew older, he came to understand that there were lots of things that made him very different from them, but at four years old, this was his first clue. Before then, he just assumed that all boys were alike. He and Declan and Dad all had the same thick curls, the same frostbitten eyes, the same wildness in their bones that made them tear through the fields at the farm, whirlwinds of fierce screaming joy. Then his brother Matthew was born, with his golden hair and his mellow demeanor, and he realized, _oh_. Boys came in different shapes.

Not long after that, he realized just how different he was from Declan as well, when Declan wouldn’t speak to the former owner of the Barns. He was an old farmer named Mr. Everly and he spent his time hanging around the far hay shed. He had also died fifteen years earlier. Declan said that the man wasn’t really there, but Ronan knew he was. Declan kept insisting that Ronan was lying, but Ronan knew that Declan was the real liar. As Ronan’s fantastical world got larger, Declan’s seemed to shrink, until he was as serious as a grown-up, more serious even than the actual grown-ups in the family. He no longer had time for Ronan’s ‘make-believe’ games.

“Lots of young children have imaginary friends,” his mother said to his father, while he listened from his perch under the big oak dining table. “It’s a very natural way for them to develop social skills. Of course, it’s more common with only children, but it’s not strange. He’ll grow out of it.”

Ronan never did grow out of it. He did, however, grow out of the habit of telling people about it.

Through the years, ghost after ghost would come up to him, to talk to him about their problems, their frustrations, their lost loves, their violent or natural or peaceful or tragic deaths, their dreams for a better world for their children to live in. And Ronan would listen. And he would lend a hand, if he could. There wasn’t often much he could do as a child, but he learned to be patient, and kind, and sympathetic in the face of their tragedies.

When Ronan was fifteen, his own violent tragedy struck. Both parents at once. A car accident. He and Declan and Matthew were all irrevocably damaged by the shrapnel, even though none of the boys had been in the car.

The Lynch brothers had always been quicker to fight over their possessions than to share with each other. When they were left orphaned, they began to take this tendency to the extreme. It was as if once a brother claimed some personality trait as his own, the others refused to touch it. Declan was the calm one, and so Ronan could not be. Matthew was the gentle one, and so Ronan could not be.

In turn, Ronan grew harder, more judgmental, still eager to crack a joke but far less willing to make it nice. He leaned into his solo role as the wild one. He became the unpredictable, belligerent, refuses-to-listen-to-authority one. The loose cannon, just as apt to do damage to friends as adversaries. Once Ronan had tasted catastrophe for himself, he found he had far less sympathy to share around to others. He couldn’t, or else wouldn’t, go back to the boy he had been before.

Improbably, not long after the accident his father returned. His mother did not.

The continued presence of one parent helped to heal the jagged hole in his chest—some. But it was all tangled up with guilt at being the only one of the Lynch brothers who was given this particular privilege. The deeper grief that he had for his lost mother and the imbalance of mourning one parent more than the other tangled his head and his heart up even more. This, at least, he was able to share with his father, but even that was a complicated mess.

Ronan had heard similar tragic tales from other ghosts before, the continued existence of one in their beloved’s absence. Seeing it touch his own family made the horror visceral rather than abstract. Niall told Ronan to be comforted that Aurora was sure to be in heaven. Ronan wondered why Niall didn’t make it there. Was this purgatory? Was his paranormal sight a direct glimpse into heaven’s hellish waiting room? Were all ghosts walking the Earth just souls that weren’t wicked enough for hell, purging themselves of sin until they were purified enough to ascend? Ronan could certainly believe that his father had been more wicked than his mother, but was God really so cruel as to separate loved ones in this way? Somehow, He never answered these questions, even though Ronan asked them nearly every Sunday.

Ronan’s teenage years were a time of great education beyond the tragic, although hardly any of it came by the traditional sense. He attended Aglionby Academy, an all-boys Catholic preparatory school in Alexandria, Virginia. The school was meant to instruct young (rich) men in all manners academic, religious, lifestyle, and social that would propel them firmly into college, which would in turn spit them out to confidently shake hands with the rest of the world.

What Aglionby mostly did was teach Ronan how little he thrived under rigid constraints. After his parents’ deaths, his disdain for stupid and unnecessary rules morphed into an utter disregard of all rules and conventions. From then on, Ronan Lynch and Aglionby Academy were enemies.

In his time there, however, he did pick up several habits that stuck with him through the years. It was there he discovered that he had a minor talent for the creative arts, a major affinity for sleek, fast cars, and an unshakeable passion for pretty young men. The rest of academia failed to teach him anything. Or if it tried, he failed to listen.

For a while, he flirted with the idea of dropping out of high school altogether, a brief dalliance of which Declan wholeheartedly disapproved. Surprisingly, perhaps, far more than he disapproved of Ronan’s actual flirtations, considering none of them were of the female persuasion. But in Ronan’s opinion, if Catholicism really didn’t want him to have flings with other boys, they probably should have reconsidered the all-boys boarding school concept. Not that he was a serial casual dater. No, that was Declan’s thing (and so it could not be Ronan’s). Ronan’s thing was developing all-consuming obsessions. Ronan fell deeply, hopelessly, painfully in love, and spent his school days staring and wanting and daydreaming instead of completing his assignments.

Honestly, it was a miracle he even got into college. Somewhere around his junior year, the surprisingly sympathetic guidance counselor helped him turn his haphazard work into a portfolio that managed to scrape him by the skin of his teeth into VCU’s Arts program. The balance in his family bank account and the prestige of the Aglionby name probably had something to do with it, as well. He supposed he should be grateful to Aglionby for that, at least.

One final legacy from Aglionby Academy that Ronan would always be grateful for was the enduring presence of Richard Campbell Gansey, III.

At first, Ronan was not at all sure that he and the boy simply known as Gansey would get along. Gansey seemed far too willing—eager, even—to play the teachers’ game. But one day, he noticed Gansey chatting intently with a woman in the small graveyard attached to the school’s chapel. The woman was dead, standing by her own grave. This minor detail didn’t seem to bother Gansey one bit. Looking back, Ronan remembered approaching them cautiously, curiously, but Gansey always said later on that he stalked over like he was about to throw a punch at him. Or the old lady. Instead of starting a fight, however, on that day Ronan and Gansey started a deep and lasting friendship.

Gansey was there to support Ronan through his first desperate (non-Gansey) crush. He was a dark haired, dark eyed, dark skinned, dark humored boy a few years older than them who went to public school and worked at the local autobody shop. Gansey would go with Ronan to the garage day after day to look at the vintage muscle cars while Ronan hung around the older boy, asking about engine rebuilds and oil changes and sneaking long glances when the boy’s eyes were turned aside.

Gansey was there to console Ronan through his parents’ funerals and his father’s return and his mother’s absence. He couldn’t answer Ronan’s questions about the divine, the unfairness of both the natural and supernatural world, but he could at least understand the premise of the questions. Declan could share in Ronan’s grief but could not share in this.

And it was Gansey’s idea to turn their shared paranormal ability into an actual _Project_. To Ronan it was a lark, a chance to have some adventures, to give some measure of purpose to their adolescent wandering. To Gansey, it was more of an obsession. The duo spent countless hours after school and on weekends on ghostly errands, talking to families and law enforcement officers and lawyers and psychics and priests, trying to solve leftover earthly problems so the deceased could rest easy. In exchange, they were treated to story after story of days past, personal accounts of major historical events and wild adventures and vast mysteries of the universe. It was far more of an education than poor, stodgy Aglionby could ever have dreamed up.

Things inevitably changed as they (actually) graduated and went off to gap years and new schools and real life, but they managed to stay close, both in a figurative and a physical sense. Gansey now lived in a high-rise just across the river and attended law school at George Washington. They were still each other’s number one call for anything important, and they still even dabbled in the occasional ghost-hunting mission on weekends.

All in all, Ronan Lynch now considered himself a bit of an expert when it came to the supernatural. The world was filled with unexplainable wonders once you started looking for them, and after a quarter century of finding them, there wasn’t much that surprised him anymore.

__________

_“Wait. You can SEE HIM?”_

_“Of course I can see him. What, you thought you were special?”_

“But—he’s dead.”

Parrish seemed truly stunned. Which was stupid, really, since he could obviously see dead people too. Or at least this one dead person. Ronan didn’t think the ability was particularly discriminatory though, so he could probably see all dead people. Like Ronan himself could.

“How in the fuck?” Parrish continued. His mouth was gaping open, like a fish. Weirdly, it wasn’t a bad look on him. There wasn’t much that looked bad on Adam Parrish. Those big baby blues, the open mouth accentuating his hollow cheekbones, spattered with freckles only slightly darker than his skin…Ronan was hit suddenly with a vision of himself, filling those parted lips with—nope. Nuh-uh. Probably not the best time.

“I don’t know, man, do you know how you can see them? I just can. Always have,” he responded with a mental shake. “And like I said, you’re being very rude right now.”

He shifted his attention to the spirit over Parrish’s shoulder and asked in a friendly, easy tone, “So what’s your deal, dude?”

“I’m Noah. I’ve been informed I just died, which…really sucks.”

“No kidding. Sorry ‘bout that. Hanging around this loser is probably making it worse, though.” He pointed a thumb at Parrish, who rolled his eyes tiredly. “Why’d you decide to latch yourself to such a dull person?”

“He’s the one that found me. I guess I’m just not sure what else to do.”

“For real?? You found a dead body, Parrish? When?”

“Wednesday evening in Rock Creek.”

Oh, shit. No wonder the guy was rattled. Now Ronan felt a little bad. “Damn, okay. That is a legitimate reason to be in a bad mood.”

“You’re a legitimate reason for my bad mood,” he grumbled back. Ha. There he was, good old grumpy Adam Parrish. Ronan was happy to lend a hand to bring this version out, instead of fully stressed out Parrish, who could be a real Grade-A asshole. He turned back to the ghost.

“Noah, was it? Why don’t you come with me and we’ll get out of Parrish’s hair? He’s clearly not in the mood to play Good Samaritan.”

“Hey,” Parrish protested faintly. They both ignored him.

“I…don’t think I can do that,” Noah spoke directly to Ronan. “I’m new to this whole thing, obviously, but I have a weird feeling that I’m supposed to be sticking to Adam.”

Parrish’s brow-pinching-and-sighing gesture had returned in full force. Ronan grinned. He was already starting to like having Noah around.

“You ghosts and your _unexplainable_ _feelings_ ,” he sighed, not seriously. “Okay, fine. In my experience, if ghosts are tethered to something then it probably means they’re here for a purpose. Do you know why you haven’t fully shuffled off your mortal coil yet?”

Noah shook his head mournfully.

“No idea why you’re still here? Want revenge on a murderer? Want to send a message to someone? Want to just spend eternity spooking the ever-living hell out of Parrish, here?” He managed to make Noah smile at that last one.

“I haven’t ruled it out, but I’m pretty sure that isn’t my one true purpose in life. Or, death, I guess. No offense,” he said this last part to Parrish, who smiled tightly back.

“Okay, fine,” Ronan repeated. “You have plans tonight, Parrish? Why don’t you and ghost boy here come over to my place? We can pick his brain a little more, try to work this out.”

Parrish sighed, and asked, “Can’t we just do it here?”

“Um, no, because it’s the end of the day and I want to go home,” Ronan said. Grilling ghosts for information was not in his accepted tasks for overtime pay. “Plus, I want to get a friend of mine to come over. He’ll actually be eager to help, and the more heads the better in these sorts of situations.”

The hesitation was still plain on Parrish’s face. It was clear that he just wanted out of this situation with the least amount of effort involved.

“Chill, I’m a professional,” Ronan said reassuringly.

Parrish leveled him with a look and raised a single faded eyebrow at that. He really was an expert at speaking volumes without speaking a single actual word. Ronan reflected absently that it must be a deliberately developed skill, considering his default was no expression at all. He acquiesced to the silent retort.

“Well fine, I’m not a professional, obviously, no one gets paid for this shit. But I have done it a bunch. And the sooner this gets figured out, the sooner you can go back to your normal boring life with normal boring alive people.”

That seemed to sway him. He shrugged resignedly. “Fine. I need to finish up this one last thing that Piper was on my ass about first. Can you guys give me like fifteen?”

In fifteen minutes exactly (how did the guy time that so precisely?), Parrish was ready to go. As they walked out the door, Noah tagging along behind like a big pale puppy, Ronan sent off a quick text:

_**Ronan** : lighting the bat signal. new case. you busy tonight?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops went a little overboard with ronan’s background so barely anything happened in this chapter. also the farther I got into this the more delighted I became by the thought of gansey and ronan: teen ghost-hunting detectives. who’s gonna write _that_ au
> 
>  **up next:** the detecting begins!


	6. Who You Gonna Call?

Ronan drove them to a bright blue Victorian rowhouse in the eastern section of Capitol Hill. Of course he lived in one of these towering classics, on this wealthy street where architecture straddled the line between order and whimsy, where row after neat row of brick and turret popped out as bright as a children’s picture book.

As soon as the front door opened, they were assaulted by a blast of strange sounds, pounding footsteps and shrieking and growling. Adam had never thought of Ronan as someone who got along with other people well enough to live with them. It was difficult to imagine him having a life outside work, with friends and family and maybe a significant other and…just, generally, people who actually _liked_ him enough to put up with his shit.

On the other hand, the noises coming out through the open door didn’t strike him as very human. So maybe this place was actually a door to hell and there were a bunch of demon minions hanging around, primed and ready to do Ronan’s bidding. Adam hadn’t yet ruled out the possibility that he was Satan. As he contemplated the thought, some type of bird (probably?) shrieked. This was followed by a loud growling. Another shriek, only slightly more human. Adam looked at Ronan, eyes wide. Ronan smirked.

“Welcome to the menagerie.”

As they walked in, something small and pale shot at Ronan and attached itself to his midsection.

“Sup, Sprout?” he asked, sounding fond.

“ _Vieni_! Come look at what I did!”

“O, O—wait for a second. Settle down and be a human for just a sec. This is Adam and Noah. Say hi.”

“Hi Adam and Noah!” she (because, in fact, the small pale thing turned out to be a little girl) parroted, swaying impatiently on the balls of her feet. She had unkempt blonde hair fashioned into two messy braids on either side of her head and set under a cloth flat brimmed cap. A dark green dress hung on her small frame, the style old-fashioned with long sleeves and buttons up to the collar. Adam could easily imagine finding her in a black and white photograph, hollow-eyed and unsmiling, titled “children of the factory” or whatever. Despite the appearance, she was currently full of life and energy. Well. Life might have been a figure of speech.

“This little terror is Opal, resident poltergeist.”

“ _Hey_!” The small ghost hit Ronan lightly on the arm, and a sudden breeze buffeted him at the same time.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “That means she wants it to be known that she was here first, long before any of us. This, to her, means she has a better claim to the house than I, its _rightful owner,_ ” he said this last part in a pointed remark to the girl, who stuck her tongue out at him and scuttled away through the entryway into the house.

“Come on,” Ronan motioned Adam to follow the girl down the hall. Adam looked around for Noah and realized the other ghost had vanished. This was irritating. Adam had been bugged by the dude hanging around for days, and right when they actually needed him to be present, he decided to disappear.

“Noah’s gone,” he called out to Ronan.

“Is he? Huh. He’ll be back soon,” Ronan called back, unconcerned.

“How do you know?”

“He said he felt tied to you. Might not always be physically there, but you’re not just going to get rid of him. He’ll show up again before long.”

Adam wondered how Ronan had learned so much about ghost behavior. He had been seeing ghosts his whole life, too, but the whole deal was still just as much a mystery to him as the first day he realized what his visions were.

More shrieking came from the direction the little girl had gone. It was still not a comforting sound.

“Jeez, how many ghosts are haunting this place?” Adam asked warily as he followed behind Ronan through the foyer to the rest of the house. The hallway opened up into a bright, airy modern kitchen with high ceilings and tons of natural light. The open space merged into a comfortable looking living room at the back of the house, where large French doors and high windows gave a glimpse into a backyard stuffed with vegetation. _This place must have cost a fortune,_ Adam thought, a little bitterly.

“Just Opal full-time,” Ronan responded. “Eh, and Clancy, that’s the dog, is dead too. He’s a new addition to the household.”

He scratched behind the ears of a very large but friendly looking puppy and continued.

“Sometimes I pick up a stray or two for a while. People or pets. I have a feeling Clancy’s gonna stick around though because O and I are both pretty fond of him. And my dad pops in occasionally to bother me. Bird’s alive, though,” he added finally, pointing at a large black raven on the counter. “In case you were wondering.”

Adam was quiet for a second. This was…a lot.

“I didn’t know your dad was dead.”

“Yeah, both parents, about a decade ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” an accented voice from behind them spoke. Adam jumped about a foot in the air, heart racing like a snare drum. Ronan nearly collapsed to the ground he was laughing so hard.

An older copy of Ronan had materialized behind Adam. He was clearly a ghost, yet still somehow brimming with vitality. He cut a dramatic figure, even standing in such an excessively normal modern kitchen. His hair was longer than Ronan’s, the dark curls tumbling around his head like a wind-swept Byronic hero perched on a craggy cliff above the Irish sea. His face had slightly widened with age, the bitter angles of the younger softened slightly in the elder, but the eyes were the same, shards of ice, brittle enough to carve into a weapon. At the moment they were crinkled in a way that Adam was intimately familiar with, since it was the exact expression he saw every time Ronan laughed at him.

“Niall Lynch. Pleased to meet you.”

“Christ on a cracker, you scared me,” Adam gasped out, clutching weakly at his breastbone. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” His heart was still trying to beat straight out of his chest.

“On the contrary, I absolutely should. There’s no fun in being dead if you can’t commit to a little chain rattling spook business,” the ghost laughed good-naturedly. “D’you always scare this easily?”

Adam sighed, irritated. “I’ve had a rough couple of days, okay? I see now where Ronan gets his winning personality.”

“Hey, don’t insult my dad. He’s dead; it’s insensitive,” Ronan chimed in.

“Oh my god, all Lynches are exhausting,” Adam muttered under his breath, running a tired hand through his hair.

Ronan said, talking to his dad but pointing a thumb at Adam, “This one would get along well with Declan.”

“Ahh,” Niall nodded in understanding. Adam had no clue what that meant.

“Who’s Declan?” he asked. He probably didn’t want to know, come to think of it.

“My eldest,” Niall replied. “Normal as they come.” He said it as a fact, but it sounded more like an insult to Adam’s ear. Adam at least felt personally criticized, even though ‘normal’ had always been his own watchword in life. These strange, manic creatures in front of him would never use a word like _normal_ as a compliment.

The small ghost suddenly appeared again by Ronan’s waist. Adam wasn’t sure if she had literally just manifested, or whether she was just so quick and quiet that he hadn’t noticed her come into the kitchen.

“Ro- _nannnnn_!” the girl whined, tugging on his arm.

“Okay you’re right, I’m sorry. You wanted to show me something earlier. Hold on,” Ronan said placatingly to her. “Do you need to be here?” he turned back to speak to his father, almost as an afterthought.

“Actually, no. I just came for the craic. You never bring home new friends to terrify, I couldn’t let this opportunity pass.” Niall grinned in a way that made Adam certain that the man thought he was terribly charming. Adam remained less than charmed.

“I’ll see you later, then.” There was the faint but unmistakable sound of chains rattling in the distance and he disappeared. Ronan chuckled, but the sound was a little tired.

“Yeah, so that’s my dad. He’s a bit of an asshole.”

Adam looked at Ronan. Ronan looked back, impassive. Adam raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _you’re one to talk_.

“Shut up.”

Opal tugged on Ronan’s arm again, so they followed her over to the kitchen table where she had set up some huge, tangled experiment involving pieces of metal of different shapes and sizes attached to crocodile clips and submerged in about twenty different cups of water.

“I’m learning about energy!” she exclaimed. She touched the two free clips to a small lightbulb, closing the circuit and making the bulb glow.

Ronan grinned and tugged on one of her braids. “That’s my girl. Smartest one in the class.”

Adam was impressed. He hadn’t started doing experiments with homemade batteries until high school.

“You’re a little engineer,” he said, smiling at her. She smiled back, shy but pleased, and unclipped the wires from the lightbulb. Then she screwed up her face as if concentrating hard on something, and the bulb began to glow again, even though it was no longer attached to any source.

“I’m a battery too!” she giggled.

Adam was more impressed by this trick, although it probably took a lot less brain power. This was just a product of whatever bundle of leftover energy came with being a ghost in a physical world. Adam was suddenly reminded of why they were there in the first place, and looked around again for Noah.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just put this off until we know Noah’s going to come back?” he asked Ronan.

“Nah, I swear it’ll be fine. I’ll bet you ten dollars he’ll be back in less than an hour, and Gansey isn’t even here yet. Just chill out, relax a little, don’t worry about everything so much. In the meantime, I’m feeling tacos. What kind of tacos do you want?”

Adam considered. He had, admittedly, been pretty prickly earlier in the evening, and now that the shock had worn off, he was feeling a little bad about his behavior. Ronan really did seem to be trying to help in his own sort of way. And it would probably be nice to share this burden, especially with people who were clearly practiced at dealing with unwanted hauntings. Adam decided to throw him a bone.

“There’s a decent pupuseria not far from here, actually?”

“Oh, fuck yeah, love a pupusa. Good idea. Let’s do that,” Ronan smiled at him, the peace offering accepted.

After they had sorted out dinner for at least twenty people (“That is _so_ much food”; “You can never have too many pupusas, Parrish”), awkward silence blanketed them. Ronan offered him a can of beer. He accepted it mostly for something to do with his hands. They sat down in the living room. ~~~~

“So,” Ronan began.

“…so?” Adam returned.

“So, you’re spooky. I literally never would have guessed in a million years.”

“Yeah, well I should have guessed. About you, I mean. You’re exactly the type to delight and revel in unexplainable chaos. You know, all this time I thought you were George Clooney and it turns out you’re Edgar Allan Poe.”

Ronan flashed a grin that exactly mirrored his father’s mischievous smile from earlier. Adam had to tell himself a bit more firmly this time that it was still not charming. Definitely not. Absolutely not. He took a sip of the can in his hand. Dammit. The man had good taste in beer too.

“George Clooney, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s famous for playing pranks on all his coworkers.”

“Uh-huh. Not like he’s famous for his devastatingly good looks or anything.”

Adam rolled his eyes, lips quirking a little, but didn’t answer directly. “I’m serious though. You live alone, technically, with a house full of ghosts and a goddamn raven. You’re a Gothic horror novel.”

“Well sure. I mean, why do you think I am the way that I am? I’ve been hanging with ghosts my whole life. I like to think it’s more of an egg hatching the chicken situation than vice versa. When life keeps sending you dead lemons, at some point you just have to get comfortable with the weirdness, you know? What I can’t figure is why you aren’t more used to it.”

“I am used to it. Doesn’t mean I like dealing with it. Not all ghosts are as endlessly entertaining as your father.” He made certain his tone betrayed his true feelings.

“Maybe not, but you gotta admit that my undead crew isn’t too bad.”

Adam raised one shoulder, only half-convinced. Ghosts were just people. Some of them might be fine, but Adam had learned not to trust people long ago, so he didn’t see why dead people would be any different. They were just more of a headache.

They were quiet for a moment longer. He fiddled with the metal tab on his can. Ronan threw a tennis ball for the (ghost!) dog to run after. Adam broke the silence.

“So, your friend can also see ghosts?”

“Gansey? Yup.”

“How did you meet him? I’ve never met anyone else who had this ability.”

“We went to school together. I think it was sort of inevitable that we would eventually recognize each other as supernatural freaks in that place.”

“High school?”

“Catholic school. Cemetery next to the chapel was filled with spirits, made it kind of hard to ignore them.”

“And the other ghost—Opal, you said? What’s her story?”

“She’s been here since the turn of the century. The last century, I mean. Got a connection to the house, poor thing died here, but she’s happy enough just hanging around. She likes learning new things and seeing the world change and stuff. I try to keep her entertained. I know I’m not around during the day to teach her shit but I get her books and she knows how to use the internet and everything. And I found Clancy for her a couple of months ago.”

He smiled fondly over to where the ghost girl and dog were playing tug with a toy rope. Adam was baffled. First of all, he had no idea where on earth someone might acquire a ghost dog as a pet for a ghost girl. And second of all, this domestic semi-guardian version of Ronan made him feel like he had stepped into bizarro-world. The domesticity was supernatural, sure, so it was still weird enough to fit Ronan. But Adam still couldn’t help being a little shocked at the gentle and encouraging way he had been with her.

It wasn’t just surprising though. It was also, unfortunately, attractive. Adam had never figured that he was one of those people who melted at the sight of hot people being sweet with cute children, but he was starting to second guess that assumption. Then again, maybe no one was actually immune to that sort of thing. It was probably some weird biological instinct that clung on like a vestigial organ to feelings of attraction. And the fact that it was Ronan Lynch, normally a huge asshole to everyone, just made the entire situation strange and fascinating. Like seeing those videos of bears walking on their hind legs for long enough that they started to look like people in bear suits. Something that might actually be totally normal but was still bizarre enough that you couldn’t look away. He didn’t think too deeply about all the ramifications of it. He did, however, surreptitiously drink his fill of Ronan’s fond smile as he watched the little girl play with the puppy.

Suddenly Noah manifested in front of them. Adam, again, nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Good lord!”

Ronan, again, found the situation hilarious.

“Jesus, this is the most fun I’ve had in, like, ever.”

“Just. Shut up.”

Noah nodded hello and wandered over to the shelves lining the walls, browsing the book titles and looking at the pieces of art and sculpture.

“Soo, do we want to start?” Adam asked Ronan. “Now that Noah’s back?”

“Nah, gotta wait for Gansey. He’s got a whole,” Ronan waved his hands around in vague explanation, “system. Very precise notes in a very important notebook. I’m not allowed to make fun of it anymore, but you definitely should.”

Just then, they heard the front door open and a voice call out, “Hello?”

“Speak of the devil,” Ronan said. “We’re in here!” he called back.

A young man who Adam assumed was Gansey walked into the room, asking, “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Parrish, Gansey, Gansey, Parrish,” Ronan did the rapid introductions. “And that’s Noah. He’s our new client.”

“Hi, nice to meet you both. Parrish…Adam! Adam Parrish?” the man asked curiously.

“…yes?” Did they know each other already? Adam was pretty sure they had never met.

This polished young man suddenly seemed overly excited to meet him. “I’ve heard about you!”

“Oh, no,” Adam said uneasily. Who knew what kind of awful tales Ronan spun about their work spats to his friends? Adam was sure he was painted some horrible villain in all of them.

“No, not bad things!” Gansey hastened to add.

Adam looked at him incredulously. There was no way Ronan Lynch had said nice things about him to someone else.

“Okay, that might not be entirely accurate. But I speak fluent Ronan. I’m sure you know by now his bark is far worse than his bite. I could tell that we’d get along, even if the two of you don’t.”

Adam wasn’t so sure about this. Sure, the man seemed nice enough. But he had the kind of presence and grounding that always knocked Adam off his game, a little. He was just slightly too slick, slightly too polished, wealth settled so deep into his bones that it wasn’t even noticeable to him. This sort of easy manner always managed to suck the comfort out of a room, making everyone else not on their level feel itchy and out of place, rather than sharing the ease around to make everyone feel comfortable.

“Shut up, Gansey. Everything I say is always a hundred percent accurate,” Ronan argued.

Adam couldn’t stop a scornful laugh escaping. He noticed that Gansey had let out the same laugh. Huh. Okay. Maybe they would get along.

“So you see ghosts too?” Gansey asked him.

“Yep. Noah’s my new buddy. Sticking to me like glue, we’re trying to figure out why. Ronan said he’d help, for whatever reason.”

“Oh, well of course! This is kind of our weird hobby,” Gansey said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “We’ve been into hauntings and stuff since high school.”

“Into?” Ronan asked incredulously. “That’s a nice understated way to say it, Gansey.”

Gansey sighed. “What Ronan is hinting at is that I may have gone a little overboard into obsession as a teen. I’ve calmed down now,” he said pointedly to Ronan, who scoffed.

Gansey sat down in the open armchair and pulled out a fat leatherbound notebook from the messenger bag he carried. Adam supposed this was the book Ronan had been talking about. He looked at Ronan for confirmation, who smirked back.

“Okay, Noah,” Ronan turned back to look at the ghost. “So what’s your deal? Who are you, what do you do?”

Noah seemed a little taken aback to have all the attention in the room suddenly focused on him. Gansey was looking at him expectantly, pen poised over a blank sheet in his fancy notebook.

“Okay. I’m—well, I _was_ —a doctoral student in history at American. My area of research is D.C. itself, mostly around the original planning and formation of the city. I grew up in Connecticut, but I came down here for undergrad and then just never left. And, I dunno, I’m not into anything sketchy, so I have no idea how I died. Freak accident?” he shrugged his shoulders ruefully. “And I don’t have any lingering grudges or anything so…I don’t know why I’m still here,” he trailed off.

“A will you want changed? A loved one to send a message to?”

Noah shook his head.

“Adam said he found you in Rock Creek Park, right?”

“Yeah, on Wednesday after work,” Adam jumped in. “You were wearing running clothes and headphones and it looked like you fell and hit your head on the rocks.”

“I remember going for a run,” Noah confirmed. “Sort of. I remember deciding to go for a run, at least. The rest of it is—gone.”

Adam sighed, frustrated. “That’s not particularly helpful.”

“That’s normal,” Ronan corrected. “Haven’t you ever gotten a concussion, Parrish? Wait, what am I saying, of course always-follows-the-rules Golden Boy Nerd over here has never had a concussion. Well, the injury knocks the recent memories out of you, they aren’t able to get stuck in your brain or whatever. The more serious the injury, the more time you lose before the event. Honestly, I’m surprised Noah can remember anything from that day, considering this head injury actually killed him.”

Of course Adam had gotten a concussion before. More than one. And he could easily recall the sense of disorientation and resulting memory loss.

“How do you know so much about it?” Noah asked curiously.

“Professional, remember?” he joked. “I’ve talked with so many ghosts in my day. There was this one a few years ago that also died from a traumatic brain injury, and she was a neuroscientist so she was fascinated by her own death. Talked my ear off about it. It was pretty morbid, actually.”

“That’s so cool!” Noah exclaimed.

“I’ve also gotten a couple concussions myself,” Ronan added thoughtfully. “So I can confirm the symptoms. My brothers and I tend to box out our feelings.”

Adam felt a dull stab of some tangled emotion at that declaration. It made perfect sense that Ronan would be the type to throw his body into danger without a second thought, to seek out the pain of others’ fists for the fun of it. Then again, Adam didn’t begrudge anyone their entertainment. He’d probably never find hand-to-hand combat enjoyable, but he could understand on the surface why others might. It was just one more thing that made life not fair, that this casual violence could be entertainment for others, a family bonding ritual completely free from the fear and shame and humiliation of his own. He laughed a little inside at the thought of the altercations between his father and himself described as _family bonding_. Sure. He’d go with that. He changed the subject.

“Okay, well if you can’t remember the event itself, what about earlier in the day? Can you mentally retrace your steps at all?”

“Um, I went to work, as usual,” Noah started out. “I share an office on campus with the other history grad students.”

“You live in Tenleytown?” Adam clarified. Noah nodded, and continued.

“It was kind of a tough day, just the usual work problems. But then I got an email that a package I had been waiting for was delivered, so I rushed home to get it.”

“What was in the package?”

“It was a set of historical letters and stuff for my research that weren’t available through the normal channels.”

“What do you mean, normal channels?” Adam asked curiously.

Gansey jumped in before Noah could respond. “Oh well, very little of history has actually been transcribed or scanned onto virtual libraries. I mean, if you think about the sheer volume of people who have ever lived, and all the things they’ve written to each other, it makes sense. Most of this type of research is far more involved than just googling something.” He looked up at Noah in apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to step on your toes. You’re the expert. I’m just an enthusiast,” he grinned a little wryly.

Noah nodded. “No, you’re exactly right. I have to do this all the time.”

“So okay, normal day so far. Anything else?”

“After I took the package in and looked to make sure it was the right stuff, I walked down to the park to go for a run. That’s really it.”

Noah sat and thought for a moment, then brightened slightly.

“Wait! I did maybe see something. I had sort of talked myself out of the idea earlier that day. I thought I was just being paranoid, so I forgot about it. There might have been a guy following me? At least I saw the same guy a couple of times during the day.”

They all looked at him.

“Yeah, that seems relevant,” Ronan said.

“I mean, I could still be paranoid,” Noah hedged.

“Dude, you died. I think the paranoia was warranted in this case,” Ronan retorted. “Hey, you didn’t hear him speaking Spanish by any chance, did you?”

“No. Why?”

“Just something I heard. Probably not related.”

Adam looked at Ronan sideways, but he didn’t elaborate. They all seemed to be at something of a loss. Adam, at least, had no idea how to proceed. But it looked like the so-called “professionals” were just as stymied.

“So. How do we go about finding someone whose name we don’t know?” Ronan asked.

“Police sketch artist?” Gansey suggested.

“Fuck the police,” Ronan declared matter-of-factly. Gansey rolled his eyes.

“Wouldn’t work anyways, unless they could see ghosts too. How else is Noah going to describe him?” Adam, as always, was forced to be the practical one. He had started off thinking that Gansey might help him out a little in his wrangling-Ronan-role, but the manic gleam he kept catching in the other man’s eyes was making him re-evaluate that assumption. This guy was not going to be another voice of reason.

“Oh. Right,” Gansey said a little disappointedly. Then his eyes lit up again. “Ooh, I know! I’ll call Blue!”

“What the fuck is Blue?” Ronan asked. Adam thought _calling Blue_ sounded a bit like a football play. But Gansey seemed more like a tennis player. Or, like, polo. Maybe croquet.

“Blue is a girl. Young woman. Lady. Medium?”

Ronan snorted. “Cleared that right up, Gans.”

“Blue is a…person I met at the NoVa Psych Up chapter meeting. Her whole family is psychic, so maybe she can help.”

Ronan rolled his eyes.

“What’s Psych Up?” Adam asked.

“It’s Gansey’s new kook meeting he found. Bunch of people who think they’re witches and mediums and shit all sit around in a circle and sing kumbaya,” Ronan explained.

“It’s not that bad,” Gansey protested. “I will admit that some of the people there are a little…eccentric. And some are downright fraudulent. But Blue is really cool. You’ll like her!”

“I doubt that. Psychics aren’t really my crowd,” Ronan said.

“But you…see ghosts,” Gansey said flatly.

“Yes. Which means I _don’t_ need to see psychics. Even the ones that are legit.”

Adam could relate. He might believe in ghosts, but that’s because he had concrete proof of their existence. Psychics were either grifters or poor substitute therapists. He shot Ronan a fleeting look, eyebrows raised in skepticism. Ronan narrowed his eyes slightly in return.

“Actually, you know what? Sounds good, man. Invite her over.”

Jesus. The guy just had to be a contrarian.

So Gansey called a girl named Blue, who turned out to be extremely unenthusiastic about the idea of helping. The rest of the room could only hear half of the conversation, but Gansey’s half was very funny, in Adam’s opinion.

“Jane! I need a favor!”

_Inaudible, brief._

“No, sorry, wait, don’t hang up—”

_Inaudible._

“Please just hear me out—”

_Inaudible._

“Yes.”

_Inaudible._

“No, I already said I was sor—”

_Inaudible, louder._

“Yes, Jane. Blue! I’m sorry, Blue. I’m sorry for calling you Jane, and doing it again, and I’m also sorry for anything else that you need me to be sorry for—”

_Inaudible, still loud._

“I _am_ taking it seriously! I am seriously, actually, deeply, sincerely apologizing.”

_Inaudible._

“I understand if you feel that way. But it wouldn’t even be a favor for me. It’s to help out a young man who just died tragically.”

_Inaudible._

Gansey sighed at this. “Yes, he’s much nicer than me.”

_Long pause. Inaudible._

“Absolutely! That’s no problem at all.”

_Inaudible._

“Yes, we’ll be happy to. I’ll text you the address. See you then. Thanks. Sorry, again. Thank you. Bye.”

_Inaudible._

Adam stared at Gansey. He looked around to see that Noah’s and Ronan’s faces shared his amused disbelief.

“She’s…opinionated,” Gansey explained.

“Sounds like she kicked your ass,” Adam remarked.

“She did, rather,” he said. “She’s happy to help out now that it’s a ghost problem and not a… _me_ problem, though.”

“I thought you said you were friends with this girl?”

“I never said that. Exactly.”

“That means he’s trying to impress this girl,” Ronan explained to Adam and Noah.

“Sounds like you’re doing a great job!” Noah said brightly.

“Okay, okay, laugh it up everyone. I really do think she could be helpful though,” Gansey said. “Anyway, she’s free Sunday. Everyone cool with reconvening then?”

They all were, so a second meeting was scheduled. Gansey wrote it down in his little fancy notebook to make it official. Adam supposed that meant some weird psychic girl named _Blue_ was now joining this freak show. Figured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adam’s internal monologue has transitioned from using “Lynch” to “Ronan”…hmmm that’s interesting.
> 
> **up next:** the whole gang gets together! several more phone calls are made. a clue is discovered?


	7. Ghostbusters!

“Alrighty,” Ronan said, rubbing the palms of his hands together. “I declare the second meeting of the Ghostbusters begun.”

It was Sunday afternoon, and they were once again all sprawled around Ronan’s living room. This time they had been joined by a diminutive young woman named Blue Sargent, who had appeared at Ronan's door at 2:00 pm on the dot with a spray of bright yellow puffs for Noah (she said they were mimosa flower and were supposed to be a healthy boost for spirits. Noah certainly seemed to appreciate it. But that also could have been because a pretty girl had brought him flowers) and a sensible no-nonsense attitude. Herb lore aside, she didn’t act like any of the psychics that Ronan had met before. And he and Gansey had met quite a few in their paranormal investigating years.

“Ghostbusters?” Noah asked in mild apprehension. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

“Sorry, it does kind of sound like we’re trying to get rid of you. But the Ghost-Problem-Solvers just doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Gansey explained apologetically. “Anyways, it’s just an old joke. That’s what Ronan and I used to call our little team back in our school days.”

“You guys were super cool, then, I take it?” Adam said.

“Shut it, Parrish.” Ronan pointed a warning finger at him. Adam just smiled back sweetly. Little shit.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Gansey interrupted loudly before Adam could bite back.

“First of all, thanks so much for coming, Blue.” Gansey smiled at her.

It might have looked normal enough to the others, but Ronan could recognize the particular gleam in his eye that meant it was his _besotted_ smile. She nodded at him, friendly but in a generic, business-y sort of way. Gansey had his work cut out for him. Ronan hadn’t yet decided whether he wanted to play wingman or chase the girl away. There weren’t many in the world who were deserving of Gansey’s attention.

“Okay, to catch Blue up, the gist is that Noah died while out on a run on Wednesday night. Adam found his body, and now Noah’s haunting him,” Gansey summarized neatly.

“Hey,” Noah said grumpily. “It’s not like I can help it.”

“Sorry, poor word choice. Noah feels tied to Adam, and we’re trying to work out what his deal is. He doesn’t remember the death specifically, but he does remember seeing some guy possibly following him earlier in the day, which we all think is suspicious enough to investigate. Did I leave anything out?”

“What did the guy look like?” Blue asked.

“Normal white dude with brown hair, probably in his 20s or 30s. I think I could recognize him if I saw him again but I’m not sure how else to describe him,” Noah replied.

“Alright. I feel appropriately caught up,” Blue said.

“So once again, I put the question to the group: How do we find a sketchy person if we don’t have a name and only have a vague physical description?” Ronan asked.

“Can you just, I don’t know, do your psychic thing?” Noah asked Blue hopefully.

“My _psychic_ thing?” Blue glared at Gansey, strangely, rather than Noah. “Did you tell them that I was psychic?” she accused.

“No! I said you came from a psychic family. And…that you were really cool?” he ended sheepishly.

She turned her glare on the rest of the group. “I’m not psychic, okay? I can see ghosts but that’s it.”

Ronan thought he detected a fair amount of bitterness in the declaration. Sounded like a touchy subject. Maybe he’d poke at it.

“Why are you here, then?” he muttered under his breath. Gansey slapped him lightly over the back of the head.

“Blue is here because she has many other talents,” he said. Ronan snorted, and Gansey smacked him again. “She’s very bright, and I’m sure she can contribute some good ideas. Unlike you, at the moment.”

“I’m contributing my house. Hit me again and I’ll kick you out of it,” Ronan warned.

“Maybe we could start by coming up with some options for sketchy motives,” Adam suggested, looking amused at the spat. He was probably just happy that he wasn’t the one in the middle of an argument for once.

“Good thinking,” Gansey nodded, walking over to the cupboard below the bookshelves where Ronan kept a bunch of Opal’s games and activities. He grabbed the small white board that he knew would be behind the battered Masterpiece box and set it on the mantel above the fireplace. Then he uncapped a bright purple dry erase marker, and like a mad professor emphasizing a point during a lecture, scrawled a title on the board:

DISREPUTABLE POSSIBILITIES

“Thief,” Blue called out.

“Serial killer,” Ronan suggested.

“Rival academic,” Noah added, grinning.

“Mob enforcer,” Adam chimed in.

“Hey, there’s an idea,” Gansey said thoughtfully as he wrote the last one down. “Ronan, do you still have Joseph Kavinsky’s number?”

“Nope, that is not a thing that is happening, _Dick_.” Ronan absolutely refused to turn over that buried plot of earth. There was no telling what horrible monstrosities would come crawling out.

“Oh, come on, what if this guy was working for the Bulgarian mafia? You’ve already got an in!”

“I am not calling the evil ex. Not even for you Noah, sorry man,” he said the last part to the ghost sitting on the couch opposite, who shrugged in acceptance.

“Hang on, you dated a Joseph Kavinsky?” Adam asked.

“Um, yeah?” Ronan didn’t know what that question meant.

Fuck, did Adam not know he was gay? For as much as he jokingly flirted with the dude, he honestly couldn’t remember if the topic had ever actually been discussed. He wasn’t sure which option was worse—that Adam knew he was gay and thought he kept coming on to him for real, or that Adam thought he was straight and…what, making homophobic jokes? Shit, yeah, that one was probably worse. Why the fuck did he keep thinking flirting with straight guys was a good idea, anyways?

Adam had started laughing. “Me too!”

Wait. _What?_

“Wait, _what_?” His mouth automatically repeated his brain’s double take.

“I mean, it was _a_ date. From tinder—don’t judge,” he sneered the last part at Blue, who had started to snicker. “If we’re talking about the same Joseph Kavinsky? God, he was terrible. Such an asshole, and he couldn’t stop harping on about his ex.”

Delight slowly dawned on Adam’s face. He pointed at Ronan. “WAIT. Was that _you_? Oh my god!”

He and Blue were both laughing harder now.

Ronan had no idea what was happening. “Back up, you’re gay?”

How was it possible that he didn’t know this already? He was certain he had clocked every other gay person in the office.

“Not strictly. But I do date guys. Just not that one. He was a full nightmare.”

Gansey started laughing at this, too. Of course Gansey also knew what a nightmare K was. Now the entire room was judging him for Past Ronan’s poor decisions. Jesus, this was suddenly embarrassing.

But. Also.

Adam Parrish dated men.

Interesting.

He immediately reconsidered his new “flirting is a bad idea” stance.

No, wait, what was he thinking? It was still _Parrish_.

“Okay, so Kavinsky is a no go. Anyone else got exes in the mafia?” Gansey asked, still chuckling.

“Ooh!” Blue shouted suddenly. “Maybe!”

Gansey stopped laughing immediately. Ronan suddenly felt better.

“ _Do_ you?” Gansey asked, askance.

“What? Oh, no, of course not. I was thinking about my mother’s boyfriend. He used to be into some really shady shit, but he’s like _reformed_ now. I don’t know the details of what exactly he did, but I bet he could give us some tips on where one might hire a sketchy man to follow someone.”

She whipped out her phone and dialed a number. As it rang, she put it on speaker and placed it onto the coffee table.

_“Hey, kiddo.”_

“I’m twenty-five, Dean,” she rolled her eyes, but her face betrayed a small smile.

 _“And yet you’re still kid-sized.”_ Ronan laughed as her smile morphed into a scowl.

“Hush, you. I’m trying to solve a problem and I don’t appreciate your sass.”

_“Okay, go ahead.”_

“If I wanted to hire someone to follow someone else, where might I go?”

_“Who do you want followed?”_

“It’s a hypothetical,” she answered.

_“Sure, but my recommendation changes depending on the answer. You want detailed reports and analysis of every movement, you get one type of person. You want overt intimidation, you call another. You just want to know that the someone isn’t going to be home at a particular time, you call another.”_

“Ah. Right. Well—I’m not sure. I’m working with the followee, and he doesn’t know the purpose.”

The man on the other line hummed thoughtfully.

_“I’ll text you over a couple of names, but I would recommend NOT calling them. Especially if you’re asking questions rather than actually trying to hire a service. None of these guys appreciate questions. You can try googling but I’m not sure the internet will dredge up anything useful. You know how off-the-book these kinds of things are.”_

Blue sighed.

“Yeah, I know. Okay, just figured I’d ask.”

The man _hmmed_ again, apparently still thinking.

_“There are also some more legitimate entities that deal in illegitimate activities on the side. I never worked with any of those types though, so I can’t really give you specifics there.”_

The word _specific_ seemed to jolt something in Blue. She sat up thoughtfully.

“Is mom home? Maybe she’ll be in the right mood to give out a specific.”

There was a brief pause, then a distant, _“Maura! It’s your daughter!”_

Another pause, a shuffling sound, and then a new voice came on the line.

_“Hello, dearest daughter of mine.”_

“Hi, mom. I’ve got a ghost problem. Any chance you’d be free to do a quick reading for me?”

_“Hmm.”_

Ronan noticed that the whole family seemed to hum a lot. Like none of them ever wanted to give a direct answer. He found it a little annoying, to be honest.

_“It would help to have you here, you know.”_

“Yeah, I know, but the problem doesn’t actually involve me. I’m just trying to help out a friend.”

There was a pause, then, _“I see what you mean. Okay, let me think on it a while. I’ll let you know if I see anything.”_

“Thanks. Love you! Tell Orla she better not have stretched out my favorite sweater that she borrowed without asking. The crocheted one.”

_“You too. Tell her yourself.”_

The call disconnected.

“Now what?” Ronan asked.

“Now we wait. Got anything fun to do in this place?” she asked.

“What am I, your cruise director? Go find your own fun.”

She took him at his word and immediately started foraging through all of his kitchen cabinets. Her scavenger hunt produced a big glass lemonade pitcher, a bottle of Swedish vodka, and some orange juice from the fridge, which she proceeded to use to make a giant batch of screwdrivers.

“Make yourself at home,” he remarked dryly.

“You told me to find my own fun. Anyways, this is a sacred psychic ritual. I’m helping out the vibes for my mom’s reading.”

“Your mom isn’t here,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, she’s like a hundred fifty or so miles away.” She shrugged. “The vibes don’t mind.”

She spotted his nice highball glasses in the highest cabinet above the sink but was way too short to reach them. Ronan leaned back against the kitchen island, smirking, his silence informing her that he wasn’t about to help with this little setback. She narrowed her eyes at him and instead grabbed a bunch of brightly colored plastic novelty cups with lids and twisty straws that were sitting on the draining board.

“Just for that, you’re pouring your own,” she said firmly as she made drinks for the rest of the gang. Well, the ones who were adults. And alive. So just Gansey and Adam.

He poured his own. Into one of his nice highball glasses that he easily retrieved from the high cabinet above the sink.

Back in the living room, appropriately watered, they all relaxed into conversation. Gansey and Noah started nerding out about history in the corner, voices getting progressively louder as each tried to one-up the other with arcane and completely useless bits of trivia. Ronan tuned them out and focused his attention on where Blue and Adam were quietly chatting on the couch instead. Blue was curled up like a cat in the corner, feet tucked under her and head leaning against the back cushion. Adam’s arm was draped casually over the back of his own seat as his body turned toward hers. It wasn’t quite close enough to be flirty, but Ronan felt a moment of disquiet. He wondered whether Adam was encroaching on Gansey’s territory. He wondered whether this Blue chick would be into him instead. She didn’t seem to like Gansey all that much, and she and Adam both had a brash practicality about them that was meshing in a way that made Ronan feel distinctly uncomfortable. He watched as Blue tipped her head back, laughing brightly at something Adam said. The fuck? Parrish wasn’t funny. He was dull. Ronan abruptly got up and walked back into the kitchen to refill his glass.

Blue yelled suddenly, “Mom just texted me! GCNN.”

“GCNN? What does that mean?” Noah looked perplexed.

“I have no idea. It’s not a psychic thing. Maybe it’s her specific. That mean anything to anyone else?”

“It sounds familiar, actually,” Gansey said thoughtfully. He sat down at Ronan’s desk, where his laptop lay open, and began to type.

“Yep. It’s a lobbying firm. Stands for Garfield, Carney, North, and Nelson. Who are the founders, I would assume. They lobby for a whole bunch of conservative causes.”

“Ugh,” Blue and Ronan said simultaneously. Ronan made a face at Blue.

Gansey was still clicking around on the laptop. “Hey Noah, come over here. They’ve got employee pictures on their website. Any of these your guy?”

“He’s not _my guy_ ,” Noah said with mild distaste.

“That’s a hell of a lot of white men,” Blue commented, walking over to peer over Gansey’s shoulder at the screen.

“Looks like our graduating class,” Ronan added thoughtfully.

“Hey look, that one looks like Gansey!” Blue pointed out, laughing. “And that one! And that—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Gansey said exasperatedly. He kept scrolling past row after row of white male, ages 25-55.

“Wait, go back! There, I think that’s him!” Noah was pointing out a man with dark brown hair, strong eyebrows, and slightly overlarge features (or a slightly-too-small head. It was difficult to tell from the picture).

“Whelk, Barrington,” Gansey read the name below the picture. “God, what a name.”

“Yes, Richard Campbell Gansey the Third, I agree,” Ronan said, deadpan. Adam snorted. Ronan smirked over at him, suddenly pleased that for once they were sharing a joke instead of at each other’s throats.

“Works in the Department of Waste Efficiency Management,” Gansey continued reading off the screen.

“Sounds like paper shredding. Or sewage,” Adam remarked.

“Whatever it is, it sounds dull,” said Blue.

“Well, it’s a new lead. Now what do we do about it?”

They all thought for a moment. Ronan was again at a loss. Lobbying firms were way out of his zones of both knowledge and comfort.

“Gansey, you’re probably our best link here,” he said.

“Am I?”

“Well, I mean. You look like them. You’d blend in.”

Gansey rolled his eyes, apparently not convinced by this excellent line of logic.

“Yeah, how do you suppose that would work? I just walk into their office and start asking questions? You do know there isn’t actually a rich white person code where people just tell me things.”

“You probably just haven’t gotten to that level. You get inducted into the club after you graduate law school.”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead he suggested, “What about Cheng?”

“Ugh, God, really?” This idea sucked, in Ronan’s opinion.

“I think stealth is more our friend, here. He’ll be perfect.” Gansey looked to the rest of the group and explained, “Henry Cheng is another former classmate of ours. He’s basically like Iron Man but without all the crimefighting.”

Ronan scoffed. “Please don’t make him sound that cool.”

Henry Cheng was a genius, but he worked very hard at appearing not to be. All he wanted instead was to be liked. The affectation was exhausting to watch. Ronan, who worked very hard at not being liked by anyone, couldn’t understand the impulse and had never been interested in trying.

“So what, he works with…arms production?” Blue asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh no, nothing like that. He actually works in nanomedicine at NIH, but he’s into all these weird side hobbies using nanotech gadgets and drones and stuff. If we end up going full James Bond, he could be useful. And he’s trustworthy, don’t worry.”

“Can he see ghosts?”

“Jesus, I have no idea. It’s never come up. But it’s also not something that I tend to shout about. Guess we’ll find out?”

He punched in another number on his phone and took Blue’s cue to put it on speaker this time.

_“Gansey, my man! Calling to concede already?”_

“Hey, Cheng,” Gansey shook his head, smiling a little. “Absolutely not.”

He whispered “a bet” to the others in the room and then turned back to his conversation.

“I actually had a little problem come up, and wondered if you’d be able to help.”

_“Sure man, what’s up?”_

“Actually, think I could explain in person? It’s a little strange. Are you busy right now, by any chance? I’m over at Ronan’s.”

_“You want me to go over to Ronan Lynch’s house? Are you sure it’s not booby-trapped against me?”_

Gansey laughed. Ronan leaned over to the phone’s speaker to yell, “Not yet, but it will be if you keep saying stupid shit! We’re serious about this. Gansey will text you the address.”

Cheng sighed loudly, dramatically. _“Fine. Let me just put my last will and testament in order and I’ll be over.”_

As soon as Henry Cheng swanned through the door, hair reaching for the stars and Gansey-like fake politician’s grin pasted on his face, Ronan felt himself getting grumpy. He couldn’t deal with this much jovial back-slappy camaraderie. There was a reason he had hated boarding school. Well. Several reasons. This was a big one, though.

Cheng made his breezy introductory rounds, doling out firm handshakes to Adam and Blue in turn, just as Aglionby had taught him. He didn’t seem to notice Noah standing between them, so Ronan assumed that he probably couldn’t see him. Or else he was a better actor than he had thought, putting on a front because he didn’t think the rest of them were aware of the ghost in their midst.

Noah walked right up to Cheng, getting in his face and waving his hands. Still nothing.

Opal tried to help out by making all the lights in the house flicker ominously. She added a nice ghostly “ _wooooooooo!_ ”, as the power went on and off and on again. Ronan chuckled, pleased with his protégée. That kid was the best.

Cheng flipped out a little. “What is happening here??”

Ronan laughed more. Okay, maybe he could admit that bringing Henry Cheng into the mix was one of Gansey’s good ideas. This was even more fun than watching Adam jump out of his skin every time a ghost popped up unexpectedly.

Gansey cleared his throat. “I take it…you can’t see ghosts, then.”

“I can’t—excuse me, what? No. No one can see ghosts. Ghosts aren’t real, Gansey.” Cheng looked at him in concern, the strange behavior of the lights forgotten for a moment.

Noah, helpfully, picked up the white board Gansey had been using earlier and went back to stand in front of Cheng.

On the board in a messy all caps scratch, he wrote:

 _HI, I’M NOAH ∙ ͜ ∙_

Cheng’s eyes got wider and wider as the words appeared on a floating white board in front of his face, propelled by a floating purple marker. Ronan surreptitiously grabbed his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of the expression.

“So, yeah. That’s not exactly true,” Gansey said apologetically. “Ghosts are definitely real, and, um, everyone else in this room can see them, actually.”

“I—oh. Oh. Okay,” Cheng said, looking around at the rest of the faces that he could see, eyes still bugged out of his head.

“So the reason we brought you here is—”

“I need to sit down.” He walked over in a sort of daze to sink onto the seat in the front bay window overlooking the street. Opal’s normal seat. She glared at him territorially, but of course he didn’t see it.

“What… _are_ they?” was the first question.

“Ghosts? We don’t know,” Gansey said calmly. “Energy. Impressions. But they have the form and personality of the person just as they were in life. They look regular too, not like the _Sixth Sense_ ghosts with guts hanging out or whatever.”

“So...what does that mean for…” he left the question unasked, but Ronan knew he meant _after_. This point was always quick to arise when people realized that some form of life really did exist post-death.

“We don’t know that either.”

Cheng closed his eyes and leaned his head back onto the window. He took a deep breath and opened them again.

“Okay.”

“So, back to the point. Now that we’ve gotten the shock out of the way?” Gansey asked hopefully.

“Um, sure thing, Ganseyboy,” Cheng said, obviously not yet over the shock.

“Noah here has a little problem we’re trying to solve. He died a couple of days ago, and we’re not sure how, and he remembers a man following him earlier that day. We tracked down the name of the guy, and where he works, and we were thinking maybe we could borrow your excellent, super cool, James-Bond-like sleuthing skills?” he ended on a hopeful note.

Ronan scoffed. _James Bond_. Gansey was really laying it on thick.

“Wait, wait, hold on. Is this the kind of crap you two were doing in high school when you got into all sorts of trouble?”

Gansey looked sheepish. Ronan was smug.

“Yup.”

Cheng whistled lowly. “Wow. I just thought you were dragging Gansey down into delinquency, Lynch.”

Ronan smirked. “That, too.”

“Okay. This is the most surreal moment of my life, but sure, I’ll help you guys. And you, Noah,” Cheng said, looking off into an empty section of the room. “I’m sorry for your…death? Is that the appropriate thing to say?” Noah, who was standing right beside him and nowhere near where he was looking, chuckled.

“Great!” Gansey said happily. “I knew I could count on you. This will be fun!”

“Will it?” Cheng asked distractedly. “Okay. Although,” he continued as if he had just remembered something, “sorry everyone, I’m not free until next weekend, probably. I am completely swamped with a delicate experiment at work all this week, so I’m expecting several late and tedious nights. Can it wait until Saturday?”

Everyone (except Cheng) looked at Noah. “I don’t know why you’re all looking at me, my schedule is pretty open for, I dunno, the rest of eternity,” he said gloomily.

“Point,” Ronan said. “Fine with me, though.” Everyone else nodded.

“Let’s have the meeting at my place next time!” Gansey said.

They all groaned.

“I’m not going all the way to Virginia,” Blue scoffed.

“You go to Arlington for the Psych Up meetings. And I drive into D.C. to meet friends all the time,” Gansey protested.

“You drive into D.C. to go to school literally every day. Why don’t you just move here?” Ronan asked unsympathetically.

“I am a Virginian! I will live in Virginia, in the place of my birth, in the place of my fathers and forefathers and—”

“Alright, George fucking Washington, we get it,” Blue, thankfully, cut him off before he could really get going. “Still doesn’t mean we’re trekking all the way out there for no reason.”

“My building has a pool on the roof,” Gansey suggested mildly.

“Fine,” Blue responded immediately. Weak.

“Really? Great!” he said. He turned to everyone else. “Pool party?”

There was a murmured assent from the rest of the group. They were all weak.

“I have to plan for, like, an extra three hours in my day for Metro,” Adam sighed, sounding tired.

“Relax Parrish, I’ll give you a ride,” Ronan’s mouth offered before he could stop it. Okay, so he was weak too. But he couldn’t lie, a pool day sounded pretty great. “Sargent too, if you want?”

“Thanks, bro.” She fist bumped him.

Once again, Ronan hated to admit when Gansey was right, but he was starting to think he might actually like Blue Sargent. Gansey attracted followers like rats to a pan pipe, but the people he chose for himself usually ended up okay. Even valuable. She was far more tolerable than Cheng, at least, and as long as she didn’t break Gansey’s heart by flirting with Adam Parrish right in front of him or something, he would maybe be okay with her hanging around. Ronan would just have to keep trusting that Gansey knew what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ronan’s internal monologue has transitioned from using “Parrish” to “Adam”… hmmm also interesting. fyi this is not really a spoiler to say I do not mean to turn this into a love triangle! blue and adam are not going to date in this universe. they are just both hot people who get along and it is making ronan neurotic for, idk, some reason.
> 
>  **up next:** the gang goes sleuthing! and swimming! adam has a minor epiphany.


	8. K Street Contractors

Adam and Ronan were uncharacteristically civil toward each other at work that week. Putting aside their differences to help Noah had seemingly caused a temporary spillover into all the rest of their interactions. Adam wondered how long the stalemate would last. He was certain it wasn’t a permanent change.

Well okay, sure, Ronan had called him a brownnoser in a meeting with the higher-ups, and Adam had responded by calling him a fucking asshole in private, and Ronan had retaliated by stealing every single one of the pens in his office and replacing them with paper straws. But honestly, that was tame compared to their usual antagonism. Plus, Cabeswater’s COO had stopped by his office after the meeting to praise both his work and his work ethic, so he was feeling pretty smug. He might have the appearance of a suck-up but he’d definitely get promoted before Ronan Fucking Lynch.

All in all, it was a decent week. Adam was able to make some real headway on the new project now that he was no longer plagued by Noah’s theatrics. The other man still showed up occasionally, but he seemed to be getting the hang of both the mechanics of being a ghost and the emotional fallout of being dead, so he was a lot less distracting. In fact, Noah was actually turning into what Adam might call a friend. He was pretty cool to hang out with, and he’d even give the occasional helpful bit of advice if Adam asked his opinion on a design detail.

The weather outside was getting to be unbearable as the summer slogged toward August, and by the end of a sweltering week, Adam was really looking forward to having access to a pool. His current condo didn’t have one in its rather short list of amenities, and growing up—well. Henrietta boasted a few community pools, but his parents had never taken him to one. The best he had ever managed in the clogged, dusty heat of his youth were some flooded ponds, not large enough to be called lakes and certainly not clear enough to be healthy. But he had somehow taught himself to swim in one, and somehow managed to not accidentally die through drowning or catching some horrifying stagnant water disease. (Freshman biology in college had been enlightening, to say the least.)

But a real pool, with the sun on his face and the sharp scent of chlorine in his nose, and a private one no less, free of shrieking, splashing children? A luxury. Maybe he’d actually get to relax. While they…illegally spied on a powerful company. Hmm. Maybe not.

__________

At 11:00 am on Saturday, the sun was scorching high in the sky, reflecting back across the towering glass-and-steel buildings that were so characteristic of Rosslyn. D.C.’s building height restrictions forced all the high-rises across the Potomac, making this area of Virginia look more like a nameless metropolis than the city itself did.

They barely stopped in at Gansey’s palatial condo before heading up to the common area on the roof. A sign on the door to the outside read: RESIDENTS ONLY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE REMOVED. NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY. SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK.

“Hey, how come no one else is up here? The weather’s great.” Blue looked around the area curiously. At the huge crystal blue pool in the center of the space, the expensive-looking lounge chairs and umbrellaed tables, the stainless steel grills set up for outdoor cooking, all empty except for them.

They began to put bags and towels down, claiming spots near the grills or the sparkling clear water.

“The weather isn’t great. It’s fucking _hot_ ,” Ronan grumbled. “And I bet Gansey bribed the entire building to leave us alone. In high school he once bribed our headmaster so he wouldn’t expel me.”

Gansey looked slightly embarrassed at this. “Well, it worked out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I owe you my life and loyalty and allegiance and all that nonsense. Now tell me what you did to the rest of the tenants.”

“Nothing, I swear! I just…locked the door this morning and posted a bunch of signs that the pool was out of order for cleaning the entire day.”

“Ah, deceit and delinquency. Much better.” And with that, Ronan stripped off his shirt and dove into the pool. He resurfaced and swam with powerful, practiced strokes to the shallow end, where he stood back up in waist-deep water and raised his arms to the heavens, sighing loudly. “God, that feels great. Fuck this sun.”

As Ronan climbed back out of the pool, Adam’s eyes widened behind his dark sunglasses. He was emerging from the water like some fierce ancient sea-god, dripping and glistening in the bright sunshine. He should have been tangled in seaweed and carrying a trident. Adam’s vision was suddenly filled with strong arms—thick core muscles—powerful thighs. There was no logical reason that an office-bound architect should have a physique like that. He had mentioned boxing occasionally, but _really_? God. As Ronan turned to grab a towel, his back came into detailed view, and Adam nearly choked on his own spit. He had seen the evidence of a tattoo peeking up past Ronan’s collared shirts at work, of course. Seeing it in full, though, dark ink spreading and twisting across broad shoulders and curling down his sturdy back, down, down, _down_ to the divots near his lower spine, was… _whoa_.

Adam had never, not once in his life before this moment, entertained the idea that he might have a thing for tattoos. There was an immediate and rapid restructuring going on in his head to wipe away everything else he had ever found attractive, because _this_. This was it. The only thing that existed in that space anymore. He was glad it was so hot out because he had actually started sweating at the sight.

Rivulets of water followed the patterns down Ronan’s back to disappear below his swim trunks. Adam was suddenly jealous of fucking pool water. He wanted to trace those patterns with his tongue. Heat coiled pleasantly in his abdomen at the thought.

_Fuck_ , he needed to cool down. He stripped off his own shirt and sunglasses and jumped off the edge into the deep end.

He surfaced and did a couple of lazy laps, slowly and methodically working out his frustration until he felt like he could safely go back and speak to the group without gibbering and drooling all over everybody. Maybe he was having some weird episode of sunstroke.

Gansey had commandeered a covered table in the corner, where he set down cooler after cooler filled with beers and fancy sparkling waters and burger patties for lunch. Henry had set himself and his laptop up in one of the loungers in the same corner. The chest-high brick wall that stopped anyone from falling off the roof afforded a decent amount of shade, and more importantly, included power outlets.

Ronan had the foresight to bring their trusty white board with him, which Noah grabbed as he sat by Henry. Adam walked over too, to watch curiously as he started working.

“Noah’s hanging with you, by the way. Just so you aren’t startled.”

Henry did startle, but only slightly this time. Adam supposed a week away from this madness was enough to wrap his head around the fact that the entire world was very different from what he had thought. He was impressed, honestly.

Noah wrote “ _THANKS FOR HELPING!_ ” on the whiteboard and held it up for Henry to read.

“You’re very welcome. Thanks for holding the white board. It is actually very helpful for me to know where you are. Also, this is still _so_ weird, you have no idea,” he said.

“ _YOU’RE TELLING ME. I FOUND OUT GHOSTS WERE REAL BY BECOMING ONE._ ”

“Shit, man. Yeah, that really sucks.”

“ _I’M GETTING USED TO IT. COMES WITH SOME COOL POWERS._ ”

“Hey, do you all remember that show Ghostwriter? It was on TV in the early nineties. Group of kids solve mysteries and a ghost helps them find clues by writing messages? No idea why that suddenly came to mind…”

“The early nineties? How old _are_ you?” Blue laughed as she started unpacking one of the coolers.

“They’re called reruns,” he countered amiably.

“So what are you doing exactly?” Blue asked, plopping down on the seat next to him and Noah with a carrot stick in hand.

“This is Robobee. My little insect drone. See, it’s out there in the world flying around, and this video is what it’s seeing right now,” he pointed out the camera feed on one side of the laptop. “And I can control where it goes. Kind of like a video game.”

“Whoa. And no one notices it?” she asked curiously.

“Well they might, but it’s the size and shape of a bee, so they would need to be very close to notice that it’s not an actual insect. It flies like one as well.”

“That’s so cool! Also, creepy as hell.”

“That’s me,” he grinned at her cheerily.

The bee had reached K Street and was hovering and circling around the front entrance to the building they had pinpointed as the GCNN offices.

“Ah, there we go!” Henry exclaimed, as a woman exited the building. The bee shot through the open door. “We’re in.”

The bee buzzed leisurely through the halls, slowly enough for Henry to read the labels on the passing doors. Finally it reached a door labeled ‘Waste Efficiency Management’. He piloted the bug down to land it on the floor, and it simply walked under the crack between the door and the linoleum.

“I say again. Creepy,” Blue commented, crunching her carrot like Bugs Bunny.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Henry said distractedly, as he piloted the bee into the air again, and over to alight on a desk next to a computer.

“ _WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW?_ ” Noah wrote on the board.

“One of the legs doubles as a computer port. I’m hooking it in now. And there’s a little bug—ha, _bug,_ get it?—that allows it to crack a password, and a second program that allows it to give me remote access.”

“Holy shit.” Ronan had caught the tail end of their conversation as he strolled by to grab a handful of chips. He peered over to look more closely at Henry’s screen. The act of leaning toward Henry had put his neck and shoulder squarely in Adam’s personal space. Adam tried to focus on the screen instead of the black edges of the tattoo, but he could smell the sharp tang of chlorine, mixed with sunscreen, and sweat. He was actually having trouble remembering how people breathed normally—what was usually an automatic function had scattered out of his brain. He realized he was holding his breath and he slowly let it out.

“I know, right? Where would you all be without me?” Henry grinned up at Ronan.

“No but—holy shit,” Ronan repeated. “This is, like, top level spying. Jesus, remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“You already are, Lynch,” Henry winked. “You better watch out.”

“Who are you, Santa Claus?” Ronan grumbled.

Adam burst out laughing. “ _That’s_ your first reference?” That was enough to shake him out of his weird stupor.

“Alright wise guy, give me a better joke than that,” he sneered.

“I wouldn’t risk it, actually. I’d probably just do what he said,” Adam said warily as Henry exclaimed, “Hey, I’m in, want to see his internet browsing history?”

Over Henry’s shoulder, they could now see a new desktop environment. He started working his way alphabetically through the files on the hard drive.

“Are we gonna do serious time for this? Isn’t this, like, state espionage?” Adam asked.

“I’m not spying on the government,” Henry scoffed. He thought for a second. “Technically, I work for the government and I’m spying on a private company. That’s practically encouraged, historically.”

“Still illegal.”

“Sure, but. They suck. So.” Henry shrugged. Blue laughed.

“Fair point,” Adam conceded. “I’m not complaining. I don’t have any moral qualms with this. Just wondering what we might be in store for.”

Ronan ruffled Adam’s pool-damp hair almost fondly as he walked back toward the water. “Don’t worry so much. I’ll protect you in prison.”

Adam rolled his eyes. He felt a little better that they were all in this together, though. Maybe there was something to this whole working as a group thing.

As Henry slowly but surely dug through Whelk’s computer, the rest of the gang went about the business of relaxing, each occasionally popping over to watch his progress and keep him company. Blue brought him a burger and sat with him a while. Adam returned to the cool comfort of the pool, hanging his arms over the edge and pillowing his head on them, submerged in the water up to his chest. The sun beat down on his shoulders. The contrast in temperatures was comforting, but he thought vaguely that he should probably re-apply sunscreen before he turned into a lobster with melanoma.

He sighed and stood up, but before he could wade over to the ladder he felt a disturbance in the water behind him, creeping up closer and closer. He was certain it was Ronan and he braced himself for whatever stupid juvenile dunking he was about to get. It didn’t come. Instead, he felt a sudden and surprising new amount of heat as a very large, very solid body moved to within a hair’s breadth from his back. If he shifted back more than a millimeter they’d be pressed together, back to front. He shivered. It was probably from the temperature change now that he was standing half out of the water. Yeah, that made sense.

A quiet voice murmured over his shoulder into his hearing ear, “Hey Parrish, wanna dunk Sargent?”

The voice—that _fucking_ voice—low and warm and conspiratorial, with just a hint of rough gravel, coursed through his veins and filled him up like spiked cocoa. Goosebumps broke out over his skin.

“No,” he said shortly. He cleared the waver from his throat and continued, “That’s childish, Lynch. And mean.”

Ronan moved around to face him and rolled his eyes, exasperated. Adam felt the faintest, softest brush of bare skin against his ribcage as Ronan passed by his side. He flinched slightly—he had always been especially sensitive there—and below the surface of the water his dick gave an embarrassing twitch of interest. He tried to concentrate on the conversation, rather than the sudden loss of heat at his back.

“What about Gansey?” Ronan offered instead. “Come on, it’ll be hilarious.”

Adam thought for a second. Actually, that would be pretty funny. “Yeah, sure.”

“God, you’re so chivalrous,” Ronan said in disgust. “That’s practically misogynistic, to attack Gansey and not Blue just because she’s a girl.”

“I didn’t say it was because she’s a girl.”

“Why not, then?”

“I’m way more scared of her than Gansey.”

Ronan laughed. “Fair. Okay, Gansey’s the target. I’ll take care of the phone, you take care of the job?”

He winked at Adam and then pulled himself up over the lip of the pool instead of using the ladder like a normal person. The sizeable muscles in his arms and shoulders tensed and contracted with the motion. Well, obviously, Adam told his stupid animal brain. That’s what muscles are for. The logic didn’t take away any aesthetic enjoyment the rest of him was currently experiencing, as he visualized those arms tensing in very different, more private circumstances. Adam sighed and dunked his entire body under the surface of the water again, thinking he might as well just go ahead and drown himself instead of following through on this prank.

What the hell was _up_ with him, today?

He gave a huge underwater sigh, which was mostly just exhaling bubbles, and surfaced in time to hear Ronan call, “Hey Gansey, can I borrow your phone for a sec?”

“What happened to yours?” Gansey asked. He hadn’t been swimming yet, so he was still clad in a bright green polo shirt and Sperry’s.

“Left it in my car,” Ronan lied easily. As Adam got out of the pool, he casually tossed Ronan’s discarded shirt over his phone where it had been lying (quite obviously not in his car) for the entire day.

Gansey walked all the way across the roof over to Ronan, unlocking his phone and handing it over with a shrug. As he walked back past the row of chairs, Adam reached out and firmly shoved Gansey’s shoulder so that he overbalanced and fell into the pool with an enormous splash, arms windmilling. His shout of surprise was abruptly cut off by the water.

“Adam!?” he cried as he resurfaced, spluttering, betrayed and bedraggled. Adam cackled. His hair was plastered to one side of his head and his shirt was ballooning up around him. A lone shoe suddenly popped like a cork to the surface of the water a few feet away. Ronan was right, that was hilarious. He could hear Blue and Henry howling from the corner. He looked over and Ronan had Gansey’s phone positioned perfectly to record the entire event.

Once Adam stopped laughing, he shrugged. He still couldn’t control the corners of his mouth.

“I expected that from Ronan, but not you! I trusted you,” Gansey said, wounded, as he slogged over to climb out of the water.

“Why?” Adam asked curiously. “You barely know me. If anything, you should trust Ronan more than me, considering he is your _closest friend_.” Adam said this last part with emphasis. He was still a bit confused by the pair of them, how they fit together while being so entirely different.

“I don’t trust Ronan because I _do_ know Ronan. I mean, I would trust Ronan with my life. Just not my comfort,” he joked. “I guess I thought you were different.”

Adam wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did Gansey mean that he thought Adam was more responsible than Ronan? Well, that was obviously true. More serious? Perhaps. More…stuffy and boring? Didn’t know how to have fun? Didn’t know how to relax? He wasn’t too comfortable with that assessment, but it was probably no more than he could expect from Ronan’s friends.

“Well, you probably shouldn’t trust the things Ronan says about me, either. I know he thinks he has me figured out, but.” Adam stopped himself suddenly. Then he simply shrugged again. He had nearly forgotten himself for a second. He might be working with these people, and he might be getting comfortable with them, and he might even be starting to like them, but he wasn’t about to spill all of his secrets to this virtual stranger.

By late afternoon, they were all clustered once again around the food/laptop corner. Gansey had trekked down to his apartment to dump his soaked shoes and bring up another six pack and a few more bags of chips, so they had all gotten a second snacking wind.

“These guys are into some really ruthless stuff,” Henry commented through a mouthful of hummus. “Maybe not illegal, as far as I know, but damn. I didn’t realize you could even lobby for some of these things.”

“Lobbyists are evil bastards,” Blue agreed.

“Now hang on, not all lobbying is inherently evil,” Gansey protested. “What about environmental groups? Or women’s rights organizations? Every issue needs support behind it in order to build power to influence change, and professional lobbying groups can provide that.” Gansey’s voice had slipped into something confident and easy, as though he was assured his was the right position, as though the rest of them were simply uneducated and if he could only explain it to them clearly, they’d be certain to see the truth of it. Adam found this version of Gansey insufferable.

Blue scoffed in disbelief, gearing up for a fight. “The only thing those groups respond to is who has the most cash. Soulless money-grubbing power-hungry vampires, each and every one of them.”

Gansey smiled at her fondly. Adam was pretty sure he didn’t realize how patronizing the expression looked to everyone else. Well, to him at least. And to Blue, definitely, who bristled. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree. I happen to believe that any type of influence directed in the correct way can be positive, and yes, that includes money.”

“Yeah, well, you would,” Blue retorted.

“I’m just saying, sometimes that’s the way the world works.”

“And _I’m_ saying, that maybe if you spent a little less time in your moneyed world and a little more time with actual working people, maybe you’d realize—”

“Um, guys?” Henry cut in. “I think I figured out what kinds of projects Waste Efficiency Management is in charge of.”

He turned his laptop screen to show a spreadsheet with a list of names, case numbers, and a “project status” column. The cases were marked either “in progress” or “completed”. When this didn’t garner a response from anyone, Henry pointed to several news articles he had pulled up. Every single tab was reporting on a missing or dead person. And each missing or dead name was marked completed on the spreadsheet. Case #433, second to last on the sheet and marked _complete_ in final-looking bold black script, was the name Noah Czerny.

A shocked silence followed this discovery. Blue slowly turned to stare at Gansey meaningfully.

Gansey sighed and rubbed the side of his face resignedly. “Evil bastards.”

“So that means I really was—” Noah said, shocked.

“Murdered,” Ronan finished. He looked furious.

Blue reached out her arms sadly, and Noah went into them, accepting her hug.

“Does…does it say why?” he asked, arms still around Blue’s tiny frame. “Is there any more information?”

“Not on this sheet,” Henry explained after Blue translated for Noah. “Maybe there are case numbers cross-referenced somewhere. I’ll keep looking.”

“I guess maybe I do need to get revenge on a murderer,” Noah sighed.

“Why don’t we find out why he was hired first, before you go all Poltergeist on his ass,” Ronan suggested. “There might be bigger fish to haunt.”

They hung around the table as Henry continued his search, but the previously lighthearted atmosphere had been punctured like an old helium balloon. They had all sort of suspected this, which is why they had been investigating the guy in the first place, but seeing the truth in front of them in stark black and white was still sobering.

After a while, Henry looked up at them again.

“Sorry everyone, and uh, Noah especially, I’m not seeing any details about the motive. Not just for you. For anyone on the list. I think these ghouls are just hitmen, they don’t care about why they’re doing the job. I found the client list though.”

“You mean who—”

“Hired them, yep. What was our case number again?”

“433.”

“433…433…oh, here we are. Contract and payment from a Greenmantle, C.”

Adam looked sharply up at Ronan. Ronan was looking back, eyes wide.

_Oh, fuck._

Blue looked back and forth between them, puzzled. “What’s up?”

“Um,” Adam started, then stopped.

“That’s our boss,” Ronan finished. “Well, her husband, at least. Colin Greenmantle.”

Adam had met Colin Greenmantle only once, at last year’s company holiday party. His impression of the man had been mixed. He was good looking and extremely put-together, much like Piper herself. They made a stylish, handsome young professional couple. But he had also gotten the sense that the guy thought far more of himself than was actually warranted. Or earned. Not unusual for this town, certainly, but no less irritating when he was confronted with it.

“D’you think Piper could be involved?” Ronan asked Adam curiously.

“I mean, anything’s possible. She seems a little perky for a murderer, but I try not to stereotype.”

Adam wasn’t one to jump to conclusions either way on such little information. A single datapoint could be misleading to the entire picture. Ronan seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“I think we need to find out more.”

“You mean—”

“Go poking around her office? Why yes, Parrish, I do mean that.”

Adam sighed. They were definitely getting fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: any resemblance this fake evil firm has to a certain real-life conservative lobbying supergroup that can be found on k street is totally incidental. I have no evidence that they murder people for money.
> 
> **up next:** plans are hatched! plots are uncovered! *cue ~~mister~~ mission impossible theme*


	9. Spooks

Ronan went looking for Adam on Monday morning. Strange that this was actually getting to be a normal part of his routine. Stranger that lately it was more often for non-work related matters.

“Hey Parrish, check it out. I was watching this old movie and got some great tips for our big illegal breaking-and-entering plans.” He produced a roll of masking tape from behind his back. Adam did not look impressed.

“Was the movie ‘All the President’s Men’, by any chance?” he asked.

Ronan grinned.

“You’re an idiot. You realize we have card access to this building? The doors don’t even have deadbolts. Not to mention we’re _already in the office_.”

“Come on, work with me here, I’m dying to do some ratfucking,” he badgered. That trademark stone face was staring flatly back at him. Looks like it was one of Parrish’s un-fun days.

“This isn’t sabotage. It’s information gathering.”

“For eventual sabotage,” Ronan insisted.

“We don’t know that yet,” Adam insisted right back.

“So if we find evidence they really are murdering people, you’re what, just going to ignore it because you work for them? Cool plan, bootlicker,” Ronan responded.

“Or we could tell the proper authorities.”

“Pfft. Knew you were a narc.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Adam muttered under his breath.

There was a non-zero probability that this would end with them bickering so loudly that they actually did get caught by the janitor and subsequently arrested. Maybe it would be a good idea to tone it down a little.

__________

That evening, Ronan stayed in his office with the door open and the lights on, ostensibly still hard at work as everyone else began packing up and heading out the door. Once the space was empty, he walked back over to Adam’s office. Adam looked up and nodded as he knocked on the open door.

“All clear?”

“Yup.”

Adam reached into his messenger bag and pulled out two pairs of dark gloves. Ronan was impressed. He wasn’t sure it was necessary, but it was probably better to be safe. Parrish’s preparedness-bordering-on-paranoia might actually be an asset, here.

Ronan, in turn, reached into his back pocket and pulled out the roll of masking tape. Adam rolled his eyes.

“Just kidding,” he said. From his other pocket he took out a small box and opened it, revealing Henry’s bee drone tucked inside. “See? I can be useful too.”

Adam nodded. “Alright, let’s do this quickly.”

They walked over to Piper’s office, pulling on the gloves. When they reached the door, Ronan mimed speaking into a walkie-talkie.

“The Committee to Re-Elect the President is in place. Waiting for confirmation for CREEP to begin the break-in.”

Adam looked flatly at him. “Finished?”

“Oh, not even close. I can do this all night.”

“Do you really want to be on the side of Nixon in this scenario?”

Ronan considered. “Good point. But if you stop me now, you won’t get to hear my excellent Deep Throat jokes.”

Adam coughed, then recovered.

“I’m sure they’re incredibly original.”

“Maybe not, but they’re _really_ good.” Ronan winked at him. The lights on their floor were half off by now, so it was too dim to tell if Adam was blushing. Ronan mentally shook himself for searching for it. They had a serious job to do. He tried the door handle, and it opened easily.

“Is it weird that it’s not locked?” he asked.

“Do you lock your office door?”

“No. I figure anyone who can get into the main space is supposed to be here and won’t steal my shit. But I also don’t have anything to hide.”

“I don’t have anything to hide and I lock my door,” Adam responded.

“Yeah, well, you’re a suspicious bastard.”

“I’m just saying, door locking doesn’t necessarily correlate with nefarious activity.”

“Oh Jesus, give it a rest. I wasn’t looking for a lecture on causation, science guy.”

Ronan noticed one corner of Adam’s mouth twitch briefly. It was things like this that made him sure he wasn’t the only one being deliberately antagonizing. Adam Parrish might put up a polite front, but he was just as much of a shit-stirrer as Ronan was. He was just sneakier about it. Which was honestly even more devious, because it made Ronan look like the bad guy all the time. Ronan would be impressed if he wasn’t so irritated.

Piper’s office was far larger than either of theirs, naturally, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. Ronan turned on the computer below the desk and attached the bee. While they waited for it to do its thing, Adam started rifling through her filing cabinet drawers. Ronan took out his phone and began to snap pictures of the things on top of the desk. There were some copies of contracts and other papers that all looked normal and work-related, and a couple of magazines.

There were also several bright Post-It notes stuck in different spots around the border of her computer monitor. Each displayed a list penned in no-nonsense all caps script, and the different neon colors seemed to denote separate sets of tasks.

The yellow note was titled TO SEND and contained the following bullets:

  * CONTRACT TO SITE
  * PAYMENT FOR LUMBER SHIPMENT
  * PAYMENT FOR CONSULT



The pink note was labeled TO BUY and listed:

  * NEW BLACK PUMPS (HEEL FUCKED)
  * BISTRO SET FOR PATIO
  * COSRX SNAIL MUCIN
  * HIMALAYAN SALT CUTTING BOARD
  * NEW PLIERS (HEAVY-DUTY)
  * BLEACH (LARGE SIZE / MULTIPLE?)
  * TARP(S)



Finally, the orange TO FIGURE OUT note read:

  * FAVOR SPECIFICS
  * HOW MUCH EXTRA MATERIAL TO GET FROM EXISTING WORKSITE
  * RITUAL?? (L’ENFANT PAPERS)
  * CAN YOU BUY CHLOROFORM ON THE INTERNET?



“That’s…concerning,” Adam said, as he examined the notes over Ronan’s shoulder. An understatement, as usual.

“ _Can_ you buy chloroform on the internet?” Ronan asked curiously.

“I like how you say that like I would know,” Adam responded tartly.

“Admitting you don’t know something? _Parrish_ the thought!” Ronan said in an overly shocked voice, then added, “ _Parrish_? Get it?” Adam rolled his eyes.

“Some of these other things on her buy list are a little creepy, too. I mean, bleach? Tarps? Plural?”

“Not to mention snail mucus. What on earth would you need that for?”

“Okay, so we’re agreed that she’s in some weird shit. None of this is enlightening on its own though.” Ronan snapped a photo of each of the Post-Its and they continued to look through her desk drawers and filing cabinet.

Once they finished sorting through and photographing the physical files, they looked to the computer. Adam checked then ejected the little drone. “All finished.”

“Great. Back to HQ?”

Adam nodded and followed him out the door, scanning the room once more to make sure everything was exactly as they had found it.

No nosy janitors, no alarms or cameras, barely any fighting. A success. As long as there was actually something useful in all of this.

__________

Once again the gang found themselves seated at Ronan’s kitchen table. The phone was passed around so everyone could see the photos they had taken of Piper’s office while Cheng and Gansey uploaded the data from Robobee onto Ronan’s laptop.

“Hey. Check this out—she wrote down L’Enfant papers,” Noah said, pointing over Blue’s shoulder at one of the Post-It images.

“That mean something to you?” Blue asked, looking up hopefully.

“Maybe. I am—I _was_ —doing research into L’Enfant around the time of the city survey and planning. I just got access to some of his restricted correspondences and diaries. That’s what that package I got was, on the day I died. Seems like a pretty weird coincidence.”

“No such thing as a coincidence,” Gansey said matter-of-factly, pointing at Noah for emphasis. “What did the papers say? Was there anything related to a ritual?”

“I don’t know. I never got a chance to read them before...”

“Shit.” Ronan agreed with Gansey that this was sounding less and less like a coincidence.

“I can’t see my research being related to anything weird or wacky, though,” Noah said after a moment. “L’Enfant was a pretty normal dude.”

“Yeah well, so were you until you died and now you’re a ghost,” Ronan pointed out.

“Huh. True,” Noah admitted thoughtfully.

“Any way you could get access to the papers still?”

“Oh, maybe! The package is still in my apartment!” Without another word, he disappeared from the room.

“How is it that he can sometimes go other places and sometimes he’s stuck to me?” Adam asked. “Where does he go when he’s not here?”

Ronan shrugged. “Ghost rules are weird, man. Ask him when he comes back, but I can pretty much guarantee he won’t be able to tell you. I generally think of it as a sort of leash. Like there’s a range in space or time that they can move around in, but they’ll always come back. And it’s hard to predict. And no one knows where they go when they aren’t corporeal, not even them.”

“So he can go back to his apartment? Can he go other places?”

Ronan shrugged again. “Probably not, unless you’re there. Maybe some other places he’s really familiar with, like his office or campus.”

Adam hummed in thought.

“What about the ghosts that aren’t tied to one spot? Can they just roam free?”

Gansey was the one to shrug this time. “Mostly. We think they can kind of do what they want. We don’t have that much experience with them since they never need our help. And there aren’t too many of them anyways. They don’t have much cause to hang around where no one can see them once they’re satisfied with their affairs on Earth.”

After another period of silence as they flipped through the photos, Blue spoke up.

“Finding anything interesting in the bee data?”

“Not sure…there is this one list of dates and names, and what looks like things that happened to them. Weird deaths and stuff. The only thing I can find that doesn’t seem work-related, at least.”

Henry turned the laptop screen to show them the list, which read:

  * _Benjamin Burke sighting, letter to wife 1692_
  * _Maria Blackwood sighting, newspaper bulletin 1704_
  * _Abraham Cooper sighting, newspaper article 1722_
  * _Elizabeth Randall sighting, diary entries 1754_
  * _John Hardy sighting, letter to friend 1774_
  * _Jeb Bunker sighting, letter(s) to other soldier 1777_
  * _John Franklin went bankrupt 1816_
  * _Daniel Durham drowned 1832_
  * _Andrew Jameson struck gold in out west 1849_
  * _Patsy Trumbull store burned down 1884_
  * _John Callahan stock market crash, suicide 1929_
  * _Nancy Meyer published first book: bestseller 1953_
  * _Harold Upshur shot dead 1968_
  * _Sidney Gardner won the lottery 1976_
  * _Charles Fairbanks lost everything in divorce, suicide 1981_



“Huh.”

“Looks like research into a haunting,” Gansey said thoughtfully to Ronan. Ronan agreed.

“Sure does. That would look right at home in your notebook,” he replied.

“Weird that the reported sightings stopped in the 1800s. It doesn’t say what, or where, she was looking into?”

Henry shook his head. “Document is titled _‘Site Info’_. Nothing more than that.”

At once Noah flickered back into the same spot he had been standing in a moment ago, eyes wide.

“It’s gone.”

They all looked at each other.

“Coincidence,” Ronan said, because it wasn’t.

They were all contemplating what this might mean, but it was Adam who gave voice to the logical conclusion.

“I guess we need to get into their house.”

They all sat with that a moment. They were talking about a much bigger crime than snooping around Piper’s office. But then again, murder was a bigger crime than either of those things. Not to mention far more morally reprehensible. A little light B&E in the name of justice was nothing in comparison.

“Could Robobee not handle it?” Gansey asked.

“We’re talking about physical papers. That thing is, like, a grain of rice. It can’t lift or carry stacks of paper.”

“And you’re saying that Noah can’t just—” Adam started, waving his hands in a way that was probably meant to indicate his little _poofing_ in and out trick. Ronan shook his head.

“Doubt it. He might be able to help—in fact, he probably should since he knows what we’re looking for—but we’ve never had success trying to use a ghost as a spy. Have we, Gansey?”

Gansey chuckled ruefully. Like Ronan, he was probably thinking of the disastrous time they had convinced a little old lady to break into her ex-granddaughter-in-law’s house to retrieve a stolen ring herself. It had been Gansey’s idea to cut corners, and it had ended with half the house falling down.

“Okay. Alright. So then Adam needs to get into the Greenmantle house.”

“No,” Ronan said shortly. “ _We_ need to get into the Greenmantle house.”

“Why do you need to go?”

“What, you wanna leave me out of the fun of breaking into my boss’s house? No fucking way.”

Like there was any universe in which Ronan was going to sit at home while Adam went off and did all the dangerous Mission: Impossible spy work. The guy wasn’t Ethan Hunt, no matter how good he looked in a suit. Actually, he looked way better in a suit than Tom Cruise. Tom Cruise was a creepy old cultist.

“Have either of you ever broken into someone’s house in your ghost-hunting adventures?” Adam asked.

“Sure, plenty of times.”

“Really?”

“Well. More like public or abandoned buildings, mostly. But the little robot could probably help with the alarms and stuff, right Cheng?”

“Yeah, yeah absolutely. I can walk you guys through that.”

“How are we going to make sure they aren’t home? We need some sort of diversion. I’m not leaving this to chance,” Adam said flatly. His caution was once again well-placed. Ronan didn’t want to fly blind into this either.

“Wait. I have a brilliant idea. Let me call in a favor,” Gansey said, tapping rapidly at his phone for a few seconds.

They looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“There’s this bigwig party for the professional set at Maureen Dowd’s on Saturday night. My mom has been harping on me to go so she can show me off. I can get them an invite.”

“Really? Would that work? How do we even know they’ll want to go?”

Gansey rolled his eyes. “Apparently, everyone wants to go. And from what you’ve told me about Piper, she’s definitely the _striving_ type.”

Blue snorted. “Everyone? I highly doubt that. I don’t want to go, for one.”

“Well too bad, the condition for this favor is going to be my presence, and you’re going to be my date.”

“Ew, _why_??” Blue cried dramatically.

“Well, Tweedledee and Tweedledum over there are going to do the actual breaking and entering, and we need multiple eyes on the party to keep track of the Greenmantles to make sure they stay out of the house. I’m quite certain I’ll be paraded around like a show pony so you can be the under-the-radar infiltrator. We need you, Blue.”

He pointed at her like a young, dashing Uncle Sam recruiting for the Army. Ronan could tell Gansey was hyping up her role so she’d go along without complaint. He was sure Gansey just didn’t want to go into that torture chamber alone. He was also pretty sure Gansey wanted to take her out on the town in a nice dress. He chuckled, imagining what Blue’s idea of a _nice dress_ might be. Whatever, they could kill a myriad of birds with this stone, as long as it didn’t interfere with the actual mission.

__________

On the Saturday night of the party, Adam came over to Ronan’s to wait for the go-ahead. They were both dressed in dark clothing, looking like proper criminals. A normal color for Ronan, but Adam looked different in black. The style was the same as his usual work button-downs, but the color dressed him up, darkening the blue of his eyes and giving off impressions of night-time and all that entailed. He looked sleeker, more dangerous. Parrish After Dark. Ronan paced in his kitchen, restless and ready to just get going already. Adam sat at the dining table, characteristically stoic.

Opal came into the room and sat down across from him.

“Hi, Opal,” Adam said. “How are you?”

“Awesome!” she said enthusiastically. Ronan had taught her that word a while ago. It never failed to amuse him to hear modern teen slang coming out of such an old-fashioned-looking little girl.

“Did you know about the Krebs cycle?” she asked. Adam nodded, looking surprised.

“Yeah, I do know about that. I didn’t learn that until I was much older than you, though. You’re really smart.”

“Well, I’ve been around for _ever_.”

“I guess that’s true. Are you saying I shouldn’t feel bad about the fact that you’re smarter than me even though I’m a grown adult?”

Ronan chuckled. Adam was proving to be surprisingly good with the girl. If he kept hanging around, he’d probably teach her a bunch of boring shit that she’d chatter about nonstop for days. He watched as Opal reached out to pat him on the arm consolingly. The gesture was sweet (and a little cold, he was sure. Ronan knew from experience).

Suddenly she looked up at Adam’s face curiously, her small hand still clutching his forearm. She blinked out of existence, then almost as quickly blinked back into place on the chair, now clutching a lightbulb. It might have been the same one she had been using for her homemade battery experiments earlier.

“Hold this,” she commanded Adam.

Adam, looking politely perplexed, held it.

She touched his arm again and the bulb lit up. Her face lit up equally with delight.

“Kerah! Look what we can do!”

Ronan came over to peer between them curiously. “What the fuck?”

Opal giggled. “You try it!” She snatched the bulb from Adam’s hand—it went out immediately—and gave it to Ronan. Then she touched his arm. Nothing happened.

“What the _fuck_?” Ronan asked again, this time directed at Adam.

Adam shrugged, apparently just as puzzled. “I have no idea what just happened.”

“What did you do?” he asked Opal, who was looking so pleased with herself.

“He’s like a big wire!” Opal informed him.

“Am I?” Adam asked. So he had no more insight than Ronan did. Unless he was lying. His face was good at that.

“No more information for us, midget?” he asked Opal.

She just shrugged. Stupid mysterious ghosts. Ronan peered closely at Adam again, wondering what he thought about all of this. Mirroring Opal, he just shrugged. Stupid mysterious Parrish. Looks like he wasn’t getting anything else out of either of them.

Before he could attempt any more interrogation of this new mystery, his phone buzzed.

**_Gansey:_ ** _They’re here. You’re good to go._

“Saddle up,” Ronan said to Adam. “It’s show time.”

__________

  
Ronan pulled up quietly to their house in the Palisades, parking across the street so they wouldn’t be so obviously at the house but would still be close enough for a quick getaway. They stayed in the car while Ronan cracked a window. He opened Robobee’s box and texted Henry, and soon the bee whirred to life. It flew out the crack in the window over to the house in question and down the chimney.

They waited.

Before long, Ronan’s phone lit up with a new message.

“Okay, the bee got in, no sign of life, and it disabled the alarm system. We’re OK to go.”

They got out and, trying not to look suspicious, walked straight up to the front door. Ronan tried the handle. Locked.

“Shit. Did we not think of this?”

Adam narrowed his eyes at him in judgment. He produced two long, thin pieces of wire from his pocket, one bent at a right degree angle, and the other with a slightly wavy shape at the end. He leaned down and began to… _pick the lock?_

“The hell, Parrish? You know how to pick locks? Do you have a double life as a thief?”

“Anyone can pick a lock if they understand the mechanics of locking systems. And if they have enough patience,” he said absently as he worked carefully at the lock with the top wire.

Ronan looked around, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “We’re kind of exposed here. You done yet?”

“I changed my mind,” Adam said. “There’s no way you could pick locks.”

After just a couple of minutes, Ronan heard the _snick_ of the lock and a sigh of satisfaction from Adam. The door opened smoothly.

“Gotta say, I’m impressed.”

Adam didn’t reply, but he looked pleased, either with himself or with the compliment. Maybe both.

Once inside, they looked around, trying to work out where to begin. The house was huge and there were probably a million places where a set of papers could be hidden. Or maybe not hidden, considering they probably weren’t expecting anyone to look for them. Without discussion, they split up to cover more ground.

Ronan walked through a lavish sitting room, scanning for surfaces or shelves where one might put a stack of documents. He began to pick up crystal animal figurines that were arranged in a pastoral scene on an expensive-looking table, examining them closely and then putting them down haphazardly, not even trying to recreate their original positions.

Adam, in the entryway sorting through the pile of mail, looked over to see what Ronan was up to and sighed in disappointment.

“I really wish you would take this seriously.”

“I am taking it seriously,” Ronan said as he repositioned two cows to make it look like they were fucking. “Anyways, you could lighten up a little.”

It was an old argument and he said it as a throwaway comment, without thinking. He tried to position two horses the same way he had done the cows. The top one, balancing precariously on hind legs that weren’t crafted to hold all of its weight, toppled over onto the floor and smashed. The sound seemed deafening in the silence of the empty house.

“ _God_ , Ronan,” Adam exclaimed. “You can’t keep throwing yourself around without a thought to the consequences. Stop fucking around and do what you’re supposed to. Just— _grow up_.”

Ronan saw red. Before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth to bite out, “Consequences are just excuses. Thanks very much but I’d rather be fun and interesting than a joyless sack of shit, sitting alone in my room and not talking to anyone but my cat.”

As soon as he said it, Ronan thought he might have gone too far. He had heard the words _grow up_ in that condescending tone and he was instantly back in the middle of one of the countless identical arguments he’d had with Declan during their adolescence.

Adam dropped the unopened bill he had been examining and stalked over to Ronan, anger etched into his normally impassive features, angles sharpened by the shadows in the darkened room. He was fierce and cold, an archangel of vengeance, a saint doling out scornful judgment to the undeserving at the pearly gates.

“Seriously, what the _hell_ is your problem with me?” he snarled furiously.

“I just don’t get you!” Ronan was nearly shouting in return. “You’re constantly complaining about my designs, like you’d rather turn in a shitty cardboard box than something actually unique. You were so reluctant to help Noah, just because it was a minor disruption to your orderly little life. I mean, _Christ_ , not two hours ago you found out you have some freaky ghost wire power, and you completely brushed it off like it was nothing! Just another fucking _inconvenience_ , I guess. I don’t understand why someone would work so hard to be so forgettable. The world is full of wonders. Why run away from them?”

“Life has just as many horrors as wonders. Some of us like to stay under the radar. We didn’t all have your charmed and whimsical upbringing, okay?”

“Yeah, being an orphan by fifteen makes for a real happy childhood.” Ronan sneered, hurt. “Maybe I just learned to cope with my problems in a healthier way.”

“Healthy? You think acting like an insufferable asshole all the time is a healthier outlet than just growing up and being a fucking _adult_?”

They were in each other’s faces, nearly chest-to-chest. Ronan’s blood was roaring in his ears. Once again, his mouth opened without his direction, another cutting retort that would possibly do permanent damage to their relationship about to spill out, when headlights suddenly swept the dark interior of the house.

They froze.

The sound of a car rolling into the driveway cut through the sudden silence.

“Someone’s coming!” Noah appeared to exclaim, then immediately disappeared again.

“What the fuck? Who?” Ronan hissed out. He grabbed Adam’s upper arm, intending to drag him into hiding, but Adam broke free from his grip and raced over to the front door. He quickly re-locked both locks and armed the alarm system. Then he raced back to where Ronan was holding open the pantry door. He shut it so they were in complete darkness. The space was tiny, with wire shelves cutting into Ronan’s back and side.

“Quick thinking. Now don’t make a goddamn sound.”

“I should be telling you that!” Adam whispered furiously. Always had to have the last word, even in a critical goddamn situation.

“Shh!” Ronan returned. He could practically feel Adam fuming next to him, but he stayed quiet.

Ronan slowly and carefully maneuvered his phone out of his pocket, making sure to dim the brightness so the glare wouldn’t show through the crack under the door. He typed out a text to Henry:

_**Ronan:** do you still have bee eyes on us? who the fuck is coming into the house and why_

Then he texted Gansey:

_**Ronan:** did you let the greenmantles go home??? you had one job to do dick_

Through the silence, they heard keys rattling, and the alarm beep and then stop. Whoever it was had clearly known how to disable it. A faint light stole through the door crack. The intruder must have turned on lights somewhere else in the house. The footsteps didn’t sound hesitant or furtive, so they probably belonged here. Decidedly unlike the two of them, crammed together in the pantry, silent and tense.

Ronan suddenly realized just how crammed together they were. His nervous system was already on high alert due to the precarious fucking illegal trespassing situation they were in, and it was bleeding over into everything else. The darkness only served to heighten the rest of his senses. He had never been more aware of another body next to his. His skin thrummed with energy. The hair on his arms felt unusually sensitive, picking up every minute shift in the air. Adam moved slightly and their hands brushed. He felt rather than heard Adam’s breath on the side of his face, and his heartbeat through where Adam’s chest was pressed to his left arm. It felt solid and sure, despite the quick rhythm betraying the tension he too was feeling. The heat of his skin sucked into Ronan’s own. Ronan closed his eyes and swallowed, willing himself to be calm, sending up a pleading, unformed prayer.

After what could have been an eternity or could have been no more than five minutes, he heard footsteps slamming down the stairs, and then the sound of the alarm system beeping and the robotic voice letting them know it was once again armed. The front door shut. The lock clicked.

Ronan checked his phone to find several new messages.

**_Henry Cheng_ ** _: It’s Colin. No Piper._

**_Gansey_ ** _: I’m so sorry, Colin is gone! Blue had eyes on Piper and I got stuck in an endless conversation._

**_Gansey_ ** _: when I turned around he was just gone! No idea where_

**_Henry Cheng_ ** _: He just came back out holding something. Can’t tell what from the video feed._

**_Henry Cheng_ ** _: Looks like he just forgot something. Car’s leaving again now, it’s down the street. I think you’re safe._

They emerged carefully from the pantry. Adam let out a long breath and touched his chest.

“Fuck, my heart is beating so fast.”

“Yeah, I could feel it,” Ronan said. He cleared his throat. “Um—”

“We should—” Adam said at the same time.

“Get back to it, yeah,” Ronan finished.

“Hey,” Adam said seriously. “We’re on the same team here. Let’s just…remember that.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Ronan agreed, a little sheepishly. “Want to take the upstairs bedrooms? I’ll go check the office.”

He found the office downstairs through a side door, but nothing on the desk seemed like it was what they were looking for. He snapped a few pictures, then left the room to wander through the kitchen again, thinking vaguely that there might be something in with the cookbooks.

“Hey, Lynch! I think we found it!”

Ronan climbed the stairs, and when he followed Adam’s voice through an open door, he found Noah had returned and they were both grinning over a pile of papers. A leather satchel was on the table in front of them, and an open box with Noah’s name and presumably address written on the top flap in black Sharpie.

“This is it!” Noah said happily. “I’m not sure if everything is there, like I said, I didn’t get a chance to read through them.”

“Cool,” Ronan said. “Anything else we wanna snag?”

“There were some other things in the same pile,” Adam said, flipping through the rest of the stuff on the desk.

“Looks like more photocopies of old-timey diary entries, and…an actual old diary? Noah, know anything about this?” He held up an ancient-looking cracked and fading leatherbound book, embossed with “ _Diary of W. Greenmantle, 1674-1676_ ” in peeling gold script.

Noah shook his head but took the book out of Adam’s hands, clearly interested in a new historical artifact.

“Seems like some ancestor of the current Greenmantle. Pre-Revolutionary War, when this was all the colony of Maryland. This is going to be so fascinating to read!” he finished, eyes lighting up with the same glow that Gansey got when he was in research mode.

“Cool,” Ronan said again. “Let’s steal it.”

“Hold on,” Adam protested. “Noah’s stuff is one thing, but this is clearly an old family heirloom. And let’s think about this for a second. Do we actually want them to know we were here? Maybe we should just take copies of all of the stuff we think is relevant.”

“We don’t know what’s relevant yet. And it’ll take all night to make copies or take pictures of everything. They won’t know it’s us.”

Ronan could practically see the wheels turning in Adam’s head. He would see the logic in this, even if he wasn’t on Ronan’s level as far as causing chaos went.

“Fine,” he relented. “We’ll just steal it all.”

Ronan grinned. “We’ll make a criminal out of you yet.”

“It’s not the criminality I have an issue with. It’s the flashy way you do it. Easiest way to get caught is to make a lot of noise,” Adam retorted over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs with the bundle.

Huh. Ronan thought back to their argument. Then he thought about how Adam could pick locks. Then he thought about how Adam had never once protested the morality of their actions, only expressed concern about the methods. Maybe what Adam meant when he said _think about the consequences_ was not actually the same thing as _don’t do the thing_. This made it sound like he meant—do the thing, but don’t get caught.

Who the fuck _was_ Adam Parrish, really, below all his buttoned-up layers? Ronan felt like he learned something new about the man every single day, but he was more confused than ever.

Ronan drove them back to his house in silence. He supposed he could have taken Adam home first, but his place was a lot closer. Adam didn’t protest, at least, and Ronan didn’t have his address anyways. Adam spent the entire drive staring out the window.

When they got inside, however, he seemed to come back to himself.

“God, danger is exhausting. I really don’t have the energy to sort through any of this tonight,” he said, rubbing the side of his face tiredly with one large hand.

“Agreed. I’m ready to pass out.”

“Okay. Yeah. This can wait until tomorrow. I should get going, then.”

“Man, it’s late. Why don’t you just stay here, there’s plenty of space,” Ronan offered. If Adam had wanted to be driven home, he should have spoken up earlier.

“But I have to…” Adam trailed off, like he couldn’t remember what excuse he had been planning.

“When did you last feed Moxie?”

Adam looked at him strangely. “She has a timed food dispenser.”

“And when did you last water your plants?”

“Well, it depends, they all have different schedules, but the mint could probably—”

“Adam,” Ronan cut him off. “It’s nearly one in the morning. I don’t really want to go back out to drive you somewhere. Metro’s not running. Your mint will survive the night. Just stay over.”

“It’s kind of you to offer, but—"

“I’m gonna call a Ghostbuster meeting in the morning anyways, if we’re waiting to go through what we found. You’re just going to have to come right back here.”

Ronan felt almost offended that Adam was trying so hard to get out of staying the night. Not that they were best friends. Or even _friend_ friends, really, especially considering the huge fight they just had. But the guy was normally so damned logical and staying over made the most sense out of all possible options. Adam must really despise him if he was going out of his way to make his life more difficult just so he didn’t have to be in Ronan’s house any longer than necessary.

“I even have a stash of spare toothbrushes,” Ronan coaxed.

“Fine,” Adam sighed finally. “Thanks. Can I have some PJs too?”

“No prob.” As if he could say anything else. _No, you can’t borrow clothes, I’m going to make you sleep naked. In my spare bed. One room over._ Uh-uh. Nope. PJs it was.

Despite the late hour, and the post-mission adrenaline crash, it took Ronan a long time to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops sorry for cramming you in a tiny closet with your super hot nemesis boys, my fingers slipped. not sorry about all the watergate jokes.
> 
> **up next:** the gang has brunch. it wouldn’t be an accurate story about young adults in dc without a brunch scene sorry those are just the rules. includes some extremely cliché and necessary adam/ronan™ content.


	10. Détente

Ronan was up nearly with the sun the next day. He was no stranger to episodes of insomnia, and even during periods where he was able to manage a normal sleep schedule, he never seemed to need much of it. So it wasn’t unusual to find himself awake and restless far earlier than anyone else—ghosts included. As it was still hours before Gansey and Blue and Henry would arrive, he decided to make good on his promise of providing brunch. He had put out the bat signal before going to bed, telling everyone to come over around eleven for food and a post-burglary debriefing. His foraging efforts were marginally successful in that he found several cartons of eggs and enough bacon to reconstruct an entire pig, as well as baskets of fresh fruit and juice left over from the last farmer’s market. The rest of the meal was handily sorted through a quick trip to the bakery down the street.

Not long after ten Ronan finally heard stirring from the upstairs landing. He was feeling a little guilty about the previous evening’s dust-up. He knew the stress of the situation had gotten to him, and he also knew he shouldn’t have risen to Adam’s bait. He didn’t think he had been wrong, exactly, but he had definitely been tactless. He vowed to be the bigger person and apologize. _Who’s the adult, now?_ he thought pettily.

As he was thinking all this, Adam padded down the stairs into the sunny kitchen, yawning. Ronan looked up from the pile of strawberries he had been cutting and his breath fully caught in his chest. He was not prepared for the feeling. But nothing had prepared him for the sight of Adam Parrish in the morning light, his collarbones exposed above his too-large borrowed t-shirt and his mussed bedhead and his bare toes just barely poking out from under Ronan’s favorite pair of flannel pajama bottoms. The golden rays through the window lit up golden strands in his tousled hair and highlighted his freckles like scattered starlight. He slowly blinked those blue eyes at Ronan, a watercolor portrait of sleepy dishevelment. The whole thing was distressingly, endearingly soft. Ronan had a sudden fleeting thought, an intrusive flash of desperate longing— _God, what wouldn’t I give to have this every morning._

Wait, no.

He didn’t want Adam Parrish that way. Not for real. Barely twelve hours ago they had been screaming in each other’s faces. This was just visual aesthetics. Or some frozen-out-of-time, dreamy Sunday morning feeling. The scene just felt so damn domestic that it was knocking his brain into weird places. He had been single too long, that was all.

“Please, please, _please_ tell me you made coffee.” Adam yawned again, barely covering his mouth with the back of one elegant hand. “God, I’m still asleep.” He…had a country accent? What the fuck? Since goddamn _when_?

Ronan cleared his throat. “In the pot. Sugar?”

Adam blinked at him again.

“That was not a term of endearment. Would. You. Like. Sugar?” he clarified slowly, like he was speaking to an infant with a head injury.

“Oh. Nah. Cream or milk if you’ve got it though.”

Ronan set a carton of half-and-half in front of Adam. “So. Real morning person, huh?”

“Ugh. I hate waking up.”

“No wonder you’re always such a peach in early meetings.”

“And no wonder you always get on my nerves more than usual during early meetings.” Adam retorted, sneering a bit. The expression was like a receiving a bite from a kitten. _Mother Mary_ , he needed to get a grip. Or Adam needed to get dressed.

“I hate perky happy early morning people. Just have the decency to be miserable like the rest of the working world,” Adam continued his rant.

Ronan smirked and popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Gotta take your joy where you can, even if it’s early. For some people it could be a long hike at dawn to watch the sunrise over the mountains. Maybe my joy happens to be early morning meetings with your grumpy face.”

He said it as a joke. He was beginning to worry that the idea was seeming…a little less ridiculous.

Adam sneered lightly again and shuffled over to the couch in the living room to sink into the cushions, curling against the armrest with his bare feet tucked under him and his steaming mug clutched to his chest. Clancy jumped up onto the couch and laid his big floppy bowling ball head on Adam’s thigh, begging for scratches. Adam obliged absently as he took a sip of coffee. He closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure. Ronan, too, shut his eyes briefly, still feeling vaguely undone, then trailed in to claim the armchair.

“So, Parrish. What’s up with the hillbilly accent?”

“I don’t have an accent.”

“Not right now, you don’t. A second ago you sounded like the Dukes of Hazzard. You from Appalachia?”

Adam sighed. “Close enough. I grew up in Henrietta, you know it? Drive south on 81 just past Mount Jackson?”

“The apple water tower!” Ronan exclaimed in recognition. “Yeah, I know it. I was born around there, actually. We used to live in Singer’s Falls. Moved up to Alexandria when I was pretty young though, since it was closer to Dad’s work. I think Mom was sad to leave the farm, but she never complained.”

“What did your dad do?”

“Art and antiques dealer.”

“Like those people on Antiques Roadshow?”

Ronan laughed. “Not exactly. He didn’t work for any sort of historical preservation society or anything. He had a shop in Old Town but mostly dealt with individual clients. And only, like, really super rich people. And he did most of his own acquisition, not just the trade part. I basically thought he was Indiana Jones as a kid.”

“Lucrative?”

“Oh, completely. Hence this house, and the place in Old Town where we grew up, and the farm down south. I kinda suspect business wasn’t all on the up-and-up, but he refuses to confess to it, even now that I’m an adult and he’s been dead for ten years. My brother might know but he never tells me anything.”

“You didn’t want to keep on in the family business?”

He shrugged, disinterested. “Art’s great and all, but I don’t really see the point of spending my life just dealing other people’s shit instead of my own. I’ve always just wanted to make things, you know?”

Adam hummed in agreement, and Ronan felt himself continuing to speak, not really knowing why.

“You just get this feeling when you finish something, and you can see and touch this thing in the world that didn’t exist before. There’s nothing like it. I think it might drive me crazy to pass things back and forth without ever getting to have that feeling.”

He felt himself blushing. This was getting a little too real. Clearly that stupid Sunday morning out-of-time feeling wasn’t done wreaking havoc yet. ~~~~

“I get that,” Adam said quietly into his coffee.

“Yeah? I didn’t know you were into art.” Ronan looked at Adam, trying to imagine him behind an easel or a pottery wheel.

“Oh, not really. Well I like looking at it, but I don’t know anything about it past what I got from the required courses in school. I just mean—for me, that feeling is more from building something than creating it. Or fixing it, I guess. Like when you figure out that final connecting piece that clicks everything into place, and it’s just… _right_. Where before it wasn’t. But after, you can see what you did, and there are pieces of you in it, because you changed it, made it better, brought it to life? It’s just so satisfying.”

Ronan had never heard Adam speak this way. He was—floored, honestly. Of course, he already knew that Adam had talent. But he had never gotten the impression that the other man took his work that seriously—at least, not on a creative level. That he actually enjoyed it (beyond completing tasks that then gave him money that he could exchange for goods and services) was yet one more tidbit to toss on the ever-expanding pile of surprising things he had recently discovered about Adam Parrish.

But Adam was right. What he was describing was exactly how it felt. On a surface level, there was a satisfaction or pride in the work, if it was good. But more than that, it was the act itself of putting part of yourself into something, which then came to exist in the world outside yourself. Terrifying and elating in equal measure, the thought that others could look at your creation and come to know something true and real about you, the creator.

He smiled at Adam in acknowledgment of being understood, and saw that Adam had been smiling softly back at him. He cleared his throat and looked down at his coffee cup as he spoke, “Sorry about last night. I was being an ass.”

“I—yeah, I’m sorry too. I wasn’t much better.”

“Let’s just chalk it up to a tense situation and move on,” Ronan suggested.

“Sure. Anyways, I should—” Adam gestured vaguely up the stairs. “Mind if I use your shower?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t have any shampoo, though,” he warned, rubbing his recently shorn head for emphasis.

Adam shrugged.

“That’s fine. My hair’s used to soap.” He slowly unfolded himself from his perch, stopped back by the kitchen to rinse out his coffee cup and put it in the dishwasher, and shuffled back up the stairs to make himself more presentable.

Ronan let out a slow breath through his nose, hoping that the other man’s reappearance would be accompanied by a reappearance of his own goddamn sanity.

In the meantime, he returned to his brunch preparations, and Opal finally popped out of the ether to distract him from thoughts of running his fingers through Adam Parrish’s messy morning hair. She insisted on being carried on his shoulders while he worked, a regular occurrence because she liked to feel what it was like to be tall. (Ronan was tolerant of this since he knew it was because she’d never be able to grow taller herself, and any time he thought too deeply about it he got immeasurably sad at the unfairness of the universe.) But it was a strange feeling since the little ghost somehow had mass but not weight, so even though she wasn’t heavy, it was a chore to maneuver his arms around her dangling legs.

Adam returned to this scene looking far more put-together, dressed as he was in his clothing from the day before. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Opal’s leg kicking rhythmically at Ronan’s arm while he wielded a huge cleaver in an attempt to cut open a cantaloupe.

“Someone’s going to lose a hand,” he remarked.

“Not me!” Opal shouted gleefully from far above his head.

Ronan set down the knife so he could swing the girl off his shoulders and down to the ground.

“Go show Adam your sunflower that just sprouted and let me finish this, okay, you little monster?” He looked up, apologetic, and mouthed a _please? thank you!_ to Adam. Adam narrowed his eyes again, but Ronan didn’t think it was in annoyance. It was difficult to tell. He followed Opal happily enough into the other room to see her budding (literally) potted plant collection by the sunny window.

Gansey and Cheng showed up before too long, and they helped Ronan carry the food outside to the garden table behind the house. The sun was again beating down, but with the shade from the umbrella and the creeping greenery, the patio was comfortably warm rather than stifling. Adam joined them once Opal let him go from her own little designated patch of garden.

Blue was the last to arrive, walking straight through the house to find the boys sprawled around the back patio, sipping out of tall stemmed glasses and grabbing handfuls of berries to attempt to toss into each other’s mouths from increasingly far distances.

“Are those _mimosas_?” she asked in disbelief.

“Duh. I invited you over for brunch, Sargent. What am I, a heathen?” Ronan scoffed as he chucked a blueberry at Gansey’s head.

“No, but I didn’t realize you were an ageing society wife.”

“I’m a D.C. gay. I’ve been led to believe those are practically the same thing,” he shrugged in explanation.

“Clearly,” she replied, looking over the elaborate spread of fruit, bagels, bacon and eggs, pastries, yogurt, coffee, jugs of orange juice, and bottles of champagne.

Noah passed her a glass and she sat down, sipping contentedly. Sometime in between the food being brought out and Blue showing up, he had appeared in their midst. He arrived so quietly and fit in so seamlessly that no one had really noticed the moment it had actually happened.

“Hey, remember that time you accused me of only eating fancy rich person food?” Adam asked, picking up a champagne flute and topping it off with orange juice in a way that managed to be both innocent and extremely pointed. It was incredible how the man could fit so much judgment into such small gestures of normalcy.

“Yeah, and you pitched a hissy fit and stormed off? I do remember that.”

Adam smiled thinly at him over his pastry. Maybe those morning apologies came too soon.

“Okay! Do you two want to fill us in on your illicit activities from last night?” Gansey cut in quickly.

Ronan wasn’t sure he liked how Gansey had phrased that. _Illicit_ sounded far less like spying and burglary and far more like tortured, passionate, forbidden love affairs. He shook off the thought and tuned in while Adam described the break-in and what they had brought back from the house. Without discussion, they both decided to leave out their little spat. It wasn’t relevant, anyways, Ronan thought. That was something to be handled between the two of them. He was struck by a sudden image of Gansey playing mediator/therapist, forcing them to air their feelings at each other in front of the rest of the group, maybe even cracking out the white board to take notes. He shuddered.

Once they finished their summary of events, they suggested starting on the papers themselves, but both Noah and Gansey flatly refused to let them bring them out around so much spillable food and liquid. So they put off work off for a while, choosing instead to soak in the sunshine and each other’s company.

__________

Two hours later, Ronan, Henry, and Blue were in the kitchen cleaning up. Well, Ronan was cleaning up. Blue and Henry were playing some incomprehensible game with Opal involving Chainsaw, a spoon, and discarded cherry pits leftover from the fruit bowl. Ronan couldn’t tell if it was purposely or incidentally funny that Henry couldn’t actually see Opal. Noah was chasing Clancy up and down the stairs, the two of them together making an unholy racket. Adam and Gansey, being two elderly nerds in the bodies of young men, had stayed outside to finish another cup of coffee while they talked about boring adult stuff like taxes or the stock market or their 401Ks (Ronan had stopped listening).

After a few minutes, the door to the backyard opened and Gansey bounded back inside wearing his excited face.

Uh oh.

“Hey Ronan, can we borrow your garage?” he asked, gesturing to himself and Adam, who had followed at a more sedate pace.

“You have a garage?” Blue asked.

“I’m not parking my baby on the street,” he scoffed at her. What a ridiculous thought.

“Okay, but would you mind parking your baby on the street for a sec so Adam can look at the Pig?” Gansey asked patiently.

“Jesus, Gansey, what is with you and that car? It’s not that pretty, you don’t need to show it off like you’re dating a freaking model.” Ronan was well aware that he was even worse about his BMW. But the Beemer actually ran, so his devotion was far more justified.

“Not so he can look at it, so he can _take a look_ at it. It’s acting up again. Barely got here today.”

Ronan leveled Adam with an appraising look. “You realize your degree in engineering doesn’t qualify you to look at actual engines?”

“Yeah, but my three years working as a mechanic might. Can we use your garage or not?”

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

This was far, far worse than Sleepy Morning Parrish.

Ronan knew he should not even go there. He should move his car, let the two of them have the garage, and then leave them alone. To go _set himself on fire_.

Of course, what he did instead was move his car, let the two of them have the garage, and then he parked his dumb idiot ass in there with them to watch.

“What are the odds you’ve got a toolkit in here?” Adam asked, looking around at the small space, cluttered with a mishmash of art supplies, sporting equipment, and construction materials.

“You and Gansey aren’t enough?”

“Har har.”

“Check behind the cans of tennis balls on that shelf,” Ronan suggested.

Adam did, and seemed satisfied enough with what he found. Gansey was hovering around excitedly, imploring Adam to explain to him precisely what he was doing while he did it. Ronan was reminded of Clancy when Opal held a toy for too long before throwing it. If Gansey had had a tail, it would be wagging like crazy.

Ronan, in turn, was carefully and deliberately the opposite of eager. He lounged against the workbench with his arms folded, praying to God his stare looked insouciant and maybe even a bit intimidating, instead of revealing his actual feelings (which were something more akin to those cartoons with the heart eyes popping out and the “awooo-gah!” sound).

Adam soon realized that the button down shirt he had worn the day before for their burglary was not appropriate for this situation. He first tried just rolling the sleeves back, exposing surprisingly sturdy forearms that tapered into slender wrists. Ronan was already very familiar with Adam’s large hands, with those long, elegant fingers. Really, he had seen Adam shirtless when they were at the pool, so none of this should have been a revelation. But his arms looked somehow much more naked now, exposed to the air with the fabric pushed up to the elbow. He wondered if this was how Victorian men felt when they caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman’s ankle.

Bad.

Adam then decided to remove the shirt entirely, leaving only a white short-sleeved tee. This one fit him just right, of course, and pulled across his chest and arms invitingly every time he made some adjustment under the open hood.

Worse.

All the cranking, the pulling, the moving parts around shifted Adam’s body in all sorts of interesting ways. Here, a triceps muscle bulged pleasantly as he tightened something with a wrench. There, a sliver of skin near his hip was exposed as he bent deeper into the car to reach something hidden. And occasionally, a soft sound of exertion accompanied the grinding sound of a stuck bit of machinery. Even—cliché of clichés—somehow a stripe of grease ended up on one of Adam’s high cheekbones, already lightly flushed with the work and the heat. What the fuck, was this _actually_ a porno? Ronan, still feigning stoicism behind hooded eyes and crossed arms, was meticulously committing every detail of this scene to his memory.

Once or twice, Gansey shot him the briefest, smallest of knowing looks. Ronan refused to engage. He wasn’t fourteen anymore, with too many mixed up feelings and emotions too strong to hide from his best friend. He was under no obligation to confess to anything he may or may not be feeling at that current moment. Anyways. They weren’t real feelings. Just visual aesthetics.

After about a half an hour of this torture (and at least three separate but equally captivating fantasies, which found Ronan broken down on a lonely country road and Adam the knight-in-greasy-AAA-coveralls come to save him—or else Ronan in the passenger seat of his own car, watching Adam smoothly and confidently shifting gears in the driver’s seat, revving faster and faster down a darkened highway—or else Adam firmly bending Ronan over the Beemer’s hood, holding him down with one strong hand while the other reached around to unbuckle—hmm nope, better save that one for when he wasn’t in the middle of a group hang on a Sunday afternoon), they were interrupted by Blue walking in, hands on her hips in a clear indication of impatience.

“Not to break up this manly bonding time, but we did come over here for a reason. Gonna wrap up any time soon so we can look through the shit you stole from your bosses last night?” she asked tartly.

Adam looked up apologetically.

“Sorry, Blue, we’ll finish up. Gansey, I’d need to do a full tune-up and diagnostic for this, which would take a lot longer and require a lot more tools and probably a lift, or at least a creeper. I did change your oil and top up the brake fluid though.”

Ronan noticed Adam’s accent had returned slightly. The word _diagnostic_ in that faint mountain lilt was going to be running through his head all day. Adam hadn’t seemed to notice slipping into it again, just as he hadn’t noticed it in the morning before he was fully awake. The man standing in front of him—casual and confident in his skills, just a little bit tousled and a little bit _rough_ —was once again an entirely different Adam Parrish to the one that Ronan had thought existed only a few weeks ago. Parrish had always been an irritating know-it-all, but Ronan was beginning to wonder whether he actually did literally know how to do everything. It was somehow less and less arrogant the more and more it was backed up by results. Or—no, that wasn’t quite right. It was still arrogant, but the arrogance was now…extremely sexy. Ronan’s thoughts once again strayed toward wondering whether that mouth could be backed up by, ahem, _other_ skills just as competently.

Adam put the tools away, and they washed their hands and headed back out to the patio table once Noah deemed it safely clear of contaminating substances. As Adam sat down in the vacant seat next to Ronan, he gave himself a brief sniff and wrinkled his nose.

“I kinda smell like the inside of a car hood right now,” he said apologetically. “Maybe I should take a quick shower first.”

“You’re fine, Parrish,” Ronan replied, a little too quickly. He cleared his throat. “We’ve already taken up enough time. This stuff is more important than you smelling like roses.”

Ronan didn’t add that he wasn’t exactly a fan of roses, or that the faint engine oil scent he kept catching from Adam’s proximity was far more to his liking. He had to stop himself from sticking his entire face into Adam’s skin and sniffing him like a dog. Or a serial killer. Christ, he was a mess today.

Before beginning, Gansey once again produced the trusty white board. Ronan smirked, recalling his earlier image of Gansey the relationship counselor. The man was so predictable sometimes. He propped the board up on the umbrella pole in the middle of the table so they could all easily reference it, and wrote down the following:

THINGS FOUND OR ~~STOLEN~~ RECOVERED FROM THE GREENMANTLES

  1. List of things to buy and do: includes concerning items, mention of a ritual
  2. List of names/dates and associated events—haunting related?
  3. Photocopied letters and diary entries from Pierre L’Enfant, late 1700s
  4. Photocopied pages from a diary of a Margaret Poldma, 1668-74
  5. Original diary of a William Greenmantle, 1673-4



They divvied up their spoils, and each began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no could someone who thinks gasoline is sexy be catching feelings after seeing his frenemy suddenly transform into a sexy mechanic? who could have predicted this plot twist to show up in a pynch fic???
> 
> **up next:** we return to the plot! more things are revealed, including witches, and the men who fuck them over.


	11. L'Ombre de Boundary

**Diary of ~~Margaret~~ ~~‘Peggy’~~ Poldma, 1668-74**

****

_17 June, 1668_

_I have surrendered the name of my innocent youth. The appropriately proper Margaret, that Virgin Saint plucked from the Catholic stories of old, and Peggy, its immature diminutive. The Papist religion chafes at me worse than stays, and I have outgrown it as easily as I have outgrown a child’s Nickname. My parents do not understand how I can shove off these “Heavenly” bonds so easily. They say I must have been seduced by thoughts of the easy lives of the Protestants of whom we are surrounded, and that I must pray to God for forgiveness for my sin. But what they do not know is that it is far further into the past that my mind reaches to._

_The Sight that I have had since birth guides me, altho’ I have never let my father know how much I see that is outside the normal bounds of vision. He would surely consult a Priest to have me Cured, in some horrid painful way. This new occupation is my father’s own fault for teaching me Greek and Latin, as if I were a young man. I do not complain, of course. I am glad of his instruction, though I know it is only because he did not manage to produce a son. And it has led to this._

_I am seduced not by some farmer’s boy down the lane, or by the Church of England, or by any other Mortal measure. It is the Greek cults, and their connection to the Earth, and Natural communion under the stars rather than the trappings of material wealth and confines, that call to me in stead._

_I am hence Christened (even this word, a note to the religion of old, I cannot escape—though now I Christen myself, and baptise myself in the manner in which I alone choose) **Persephone**._

_****_

_9 September, 1668_

_Well, it is done._

_I have left my home, and with it the entire life I have known, and all my family. I am yet unmarried, and it would be a scandal if I took up on my own in St. Mary’s City. But I have traveled north along the river to begin anew in George Town, where no one knows me as Peggy, the English Catholic daughter of Livonian merchant Jaan Poldma, and no one knows or expects anything of me but what I allow them to know or expect._

_I have found lodgings at a Ladies boarding house and the Land-Lady Mrs. Smithfield has kindly assisted me in opening my practise. I sell herbs and remedies, as well as advise and instructions to those willing to be attended by a healer-woman in stead of a “proper” Doctor. She has been exceeding kind in finding Clients for me as well, and I begin to build a new solid foundation for my independent life._

_****_

_August 22, 1672_

_My practise continues to be fruitful, and with it my own power grows._

_Mother always told me this Knack of mine was from prayer. That the more I prayed for health and happiness for our good and deserving neighbors, the more God would bestow upon us all. She was always sure to tell me that my prayers would only become real if I was an obedient girl, free of sin. That God alone had the power to bestow favour and fortune upon the deserving, and would in turn strike the wicked down, but that He only listened to the prayers of those who were as well Good._

_I no longer believe in the same vengeful God, subject to the whims and weather-cocks of prayers sent up from Earth. I have not prayed to that God in years. And yet, my favour still falls upon those I prefer, and misfortune follows those who are unkind to me._

_It seems that the Catholic preachings are once again mistaken: it is not God alone who has the capacity to change the lives of others. The world will soon learn to be on the look-out for Persephone Poldma, beginning with this Town._

_****_

_4 April, 1673_

_Today a gentleman came to the shop looking for a tonic for a persisting cough. He was very kind and rather handsome as well. He is called Greenmantle, and he owns a shop and tavern down the lane where the farmers sell him their left-over crops to be turned into rich pastries and stewes. I have not stepped thro’ the threshold, as a young unattached Lady it is not seemly to be hanging around such places, but the shop is well known to have excellent fare. It certainly smells lovely in the evenings, like warm freshly baked pie._

_It is fortunate the young man’s cough seemed to be mild, and dry, rather than the portend of some dreadful Disease. The Sight assured me, and I hence assured him, that he shall soon be recovered._

_I do hope he returns._

_****_

_12 June, 1673_

_This afternoon Mr. Greenmantle came into the shop again, this time bringing with him a pomegranate! I cannot think where he has gotten it, for of course the clime here does not allow such tropical seed to take root. It is a Sign. He brought it not in payment, for that he had in full, but as a gift for me. I laughed that he must think himself Hades, and how on earth could I accept such a thing from a man? He merely smiled and replied—how could I not?_

_Does he imagine he might Steal me away to his spirit kingdom? I will not be so easily swayed, but I must admit it thrilled me to hear such talk. For someone to understand the inner workings of my Heart so thoroughly, and so quickly!_

_****_

_20 August, 1673_

_Mr. Greenmantle returned again today. He said he was in great need of new spices for his stewes, and he wondered whether I collected herbs for flavour as well as medicine during my walks in the wood. I told him I do on occasion, but at present I did not have any for sale._

_He then asked whether he might accompany me on my next walk to help collect some himself! I worry whether this is not seemly, but apart from Mrs. Smithfield, there is no one of whom I could think to chaperone, and no one to mind me as a parent would. I am free to do as I wish, and I do not think W. means me harm. He is such a nice and gentlemanly sort, after all._

_****_

_16 September, 1673_

_I find myself—in love, I think. I am as shocked as anyone might be to realize the fact. Mr. G—or William, as he has bid me call him, has plucked my Heart as easily as he plucked flowers from the ground to present to me on our walk. I was quite unprepared and so I did not guard it well. He says he will return to the shop soon. I cannot wait to see him again._

_****_

_4 October, 1673_

_W. has returned thrice since our walk. He says he cannot bear to stay away from me, and I must admit I feel the same. I have begun to tell him a bit about my life my past, and my present, and my hopes for the future. I have also let him see a bit of what I See. He is intrigued, in stead of afeard or unbelieving. He encourages me in my practise, unlike my former family. I am already so grateful to have found him._

_****_

_25 November, 1673_

_I am a fool. W. has misled me but I was the one that believed him. Despite bestowing great attention onto me, and making me believe that he loved me, he is in fact already engaged to be married to the daughter of a local shopkeep, and has been for over a year. It is a match of love, they say, not even arranged by the wishes of the families. The man has attended and flattered me, only to use me for what he thinks he can acquire. He heard tell of the power I possess from others in the Town, and he only wished to possess me in turn._

_Hateful, spiteful man._

_****_

_3 January, 1674_

_It is worse than I could have believed. Not only has W. run roughshod over my reputation and left me quite Heart-broken, I now discover he has made accusations of unholy practice against me to the town and more importantly to the clergy. It seems that now he has no hope of receiving my favour and good fortune, he means to have his revenge. I wonder that he is not feared of the Consequences of this path he has chosen._

****

****

**Diary of William Greenmantle, 1673-4**

****

**_5 April, 1673_ **

**_I have befriended the local healer woman who works in the apothecary near the town square. I attended her for purchasing a remedie for my cough and she did proceed to help with many other purchases, as well as advice for keeping in good health. She bestowed attentions on me most kindly. I have heard some rumours of concern from the town—more rigid folk say she is not to be trusted, and others hint at some great potential. She seems quite welcoming to me. Quite accommodating indeed._ **

****

****

**_10 July, 1673_ **

**_I have continued in my attentions to Miss Persephone Poldma, the healer-witch woman. She has bid me address her by her Christian (or Greek, as it were) name. Beyond convention appropriate for a young lady, but with her wily arts she can hardly be called even that. I continue to make every effort so that I soon shall be brought into her intimate confidence. I believe it may be exceeding useful to be in friendship with a woman such as her._ **

****

**_17 September, 1673_ **

**_Persephone has confided in me a number of things about her practice of healing. She is a person who uses magicking arts to assist her in her work. I believe she may look upon me with great favour. This may also be the reason for the rumors and whispers thro’ the rest of the town. The impression I have gathered is that she has the power to do great harm to those who have wronged her. From her tales, I come to think she has the power to bestow great fortune as well, to the opposite. I must endeavor to continue to be in the latter group._ **

****

**_25 November, 1673_ **

**_Persephone has discovered my attachment to Eliza Goodharte. She was exceeding angry with me, altho’ I had promised her nothing. I did allow her to believe I was in love, perhaps, but I did not ask for her hand, nor did I ever mean to. She must have known that a young unattached woman with no family is no match for a respectable man of the town. She was deluded. And now she looks upon me with ill wind, and I fear that this will lead to those miseries and misfortunes that seem to follow in her path. I must find a way to remedy this, and quickly._ **

****

**_1 December, 1674_ **

**_The deed is done—Miss Poldma has been taken into the Church’s custody. She only has herself to blame for her Arts. I hope and pray now that she has felt the gravity of the situation she finds herself in, that she will be more amenable to my requests. She must be reasonable._ **

****

**_22 January, 1674_ **

**_Unfortunate news today. All my planning and preparation for naught. The damn’d witch has gone to her grave spiteful, refusing to her last breath the favour she could have easily bestowed upon me and my family. We good, God-fearing folk, deserved to be looked upon with fortune, but the harlot was stubborn to the last. She has been hanged and buried at the site, in the woods Northeast of George Town._ **

**_At least now the matter is settled, and we cannot expect misfortune to befall us in turn. I shall marry Eliza in the Spring and all will be as it was._ **

****

**Correspondence and Personal Diary Entries of Pierre Charles L’Enfant**

**_Note to Noah Czerny:_** _Brace yourself; this stuff is wild. Seems like L’Enfant was a crazy superstitious dude in private. Seeing hallucinations and going to see witches for rituals under the moon and everything. Although I guess it’s not any weirder than the rumors of secret rites and rituals surrounding the Freemasons throughout history. Hope this is useful to your work! – Dr. Mallory  
_

**Saved letters from Andrew Ellicott, surveyor, to Peter Charles L’Enfant:**

_ 4 June, 1791 _

_ Sir, _

_ I do believe you have older Designs in your care, which you had drawn up while Surveying the Northern and Eastern boundary of the City. They would be exceeding helpful in the final Plans, particularly the grand New York Avenue and all minor Avenues and Streets connecting. _

_ Yr servant, _

_ A. Ellicott _

_****_

_ 11 August, 1791 _

_ Sir, _

_ If you will not allow me to have the original Plans then I have no choice but to integrate my own Designs. I have considered the matter to which you claim is of grave importance. I do not see the same importance, however. His Excellency has placed me in the care of the new Capital City in your stead and I must do as I feel is correct. _

_ With respect, your servant, _

_ A. Ellicott _

_****_

**_Private diary of Peter Charles L’Enfant:_ **

_ 14 April, 1791 _

_ I have seen—something. A shadow lurking in the wilderness just beyond the Boundary stone limits, where First and New York Aves. will intersect in our new City. _

_ Ellicott does not believe me. He says that the woods are always giving up spirits and shades to the active imagination. That it is probably some animal. A deer, likely, or even a black bear. I think he does not understand, but then again, how could he? He is right that there are many animals around, and many of them are dangerous, but I know this is not what I have seen. I know it, but I cannot convince him. _

_ How could one convince another that spirits walk among the living? Some do believe, but rarely do they see. And for those who cannot see, it is impossible to understand. _

_****_

_ 28 April, 1791 _

_ L’Ombre de Boundary has appeared to me in person.  _

_ It is a vengeful shade. A witch, or some such, who believes she has been wronged by some Gentleman of her past. She has stalked these woods of Maryland for over a hundred years, causing terror and other such mischief and misfortune. She lurks now where Boundary Street shall be built. And she will not leave. I do not know what to do to make her Quit the area so that the residents of our new City may thrive in peace. _

_****_

_ 11 August, 1791 _

_ If Ellicott will not heed my warnings to avoid this plot of land at Boundary Street, then I must take the burden upon myself. Someone must make this new City safe from vengeful Shadows. I have been to see a man who has given me the knowledge and tools to bind l’Ombre to the Earth, so that she may not harm others who roam across her path. He has warned me that this will not destroy the demon woman, but that she will become contained, as long as she is not intentionally set loose again. _

_ He sends me these instructions, which I here copy down only in essentials, so that if this is found it is not able to be recreated exactly: _

  1. _It is best to perform the rite on a night of Natural power, such as All Hallows’ Eve or else a full moon_
  2. _It requires an Old symbol of power to be drawn_
  3. _Words must be spoken, in the language not of the poets or philosophers but that of the Classics_
  4. _A sacrifice must be made for the rite to be completed_



_ This man (I will not write his name, for his Safety and my own) has also warned that this binding may twist l’Ombre, to become darker and darker the longer she sleeps under the Earth. I fear these consequences for the future, but I can see no other option. _

_****_

_ 31 October, 1791 _

_ It has been done. I have bound this shadow to her grave site. There the demon will sleep for whatever days she may have remaining. I can only hope and pray that no one will ever disturb this unholy resting site—this boundary between civilization and wilderness has now become a boundary between earth and the underworld, and I fear for our children if it is ever uncovered. _

_****_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone’s been having way too much fun taking enormous liberties with history. sorry I don’t know how to write in colonial-era english and wasn’t about to do months of research just for these diary entries. just pretend it sounds period appropriate ok.
> 
>  **up next:** chapter 12 is up immediately! the gang puts it all together, and adam makes a confession.


	12. Pierre Charles L'Enfant, Demon Slayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all get a bonus chapter today! really these two go together to move the plot along but I wanted to separate them because of the format. this one's like nothing but dialogue but hey, the gang has a lot of stuff to work through.

Adam set down the final paper in his pile and looked around at the others. He had picked up a stack of pages from the woman—Persephone’s—diary. Blue had taken the rest of that stack, and they had swapped halfway through.

Gansey and Noah were poring over the L’Enfant stack together, passing each page to Ronan after they finished with it. Henry was flipping through the Greenmantle diary, which had been helpfully tabbed by yet more bright Post-It notes.

Ronan was engrossed in his own reading, downcast eyes hidden by long dark lashes fanning out across cut-glass cheekbones. Adam paused a breathless moment at the sight before glancing quickly away as he looked up.

“Whoa,” Ronan said, sitting back.

“No kidding,” Henry said.

“There’s…a lot of stuff here. Demons and ghosts and witches who grant fortunes. Where do we even start?”

“Well, we start with our goal,” Gansey said authoritatively. “We’re trying to figure out what the Greenmantles are up to, and these things are somehow important, and likely linked. But short of making some Beautiful Mind conspiracy theory storyboard with red string connecting everything…I say we stick to our trusty lists. So chronological order, maybe? Who had that woman’s diary, and what does it tell us?”

Adam and Blue each half-raised a hand, like they were in a classroom. Well, not quite. If Adam had been back in a classroom, his raised hand would not have been tentative.

“Essentially this woman—originally Margaret, but then she started calling herself Persephone—ran away from home and started an, I don’t know, apothecary? Healing-slash-witchcraft practice?” Adam said.

Gansey erased the white board and replaced it with the beginnings of a new list:

  1. _Persephone = witch (late 1600s)_



“Good for her,” Blue added. “Fuck the patriarchy.”

“Sure,” Gansey agreed tolerantly. “Why is she relevant?”

“She thought she had some sort of power to grant or remove fortune from people she either liked or didn’t like. And she fell in love with the ancient Greenmantle and then he screwed her over, and had her condemned to death.”

Henry raised a finger at this. “I had the old Greenmantle diary. William, his name was. The highlighted entries talked about how he knew this woman. And yeah, Blue is right; he absolutely, one hundred percent screwed her over. He wanted her favor so he got her to fall in love with him, and when it fell apart, he tried to extort her by having her arrested for witchcraft. She either couldn’t or wouldn’t give him what he wanted, so she ended up executed.”

“Jesus,” Gansey said in mild disgust. “Some people, I swear to God.”

“Some _men_ ,” Blue corrected. “So fucking entitled.”

He nodded again in tolerant agreement, and continued his list:

  1. _thought to have power to bestow/remove fortune from others_
  2. _accused by Greenmantle (old), executed/buried_



“So. These are the relevant points from her own account, plus the Greenmantle diary. All in agreement?”

They all nodded, and he moved on.

  1. _ghost sightings in the area for ~100 years_



“I’m taking this from the list of things we found on Piper’s computer. It’s not specified to be any particular place, but we can make the logical leap that it’s the same, right? This woman definitely had cause to start up a haunting, given the traumatic unjust death and all. Everyone agree?”

They all nodded again.

“Okay, I was looking through L’Enfant’s papers, and so was Noah. That’s next in the chronological order.”

“Can we pause a second?” Henry asked. “I need someone to please give me a quick four-one-one on L’Enfant. I think I missed the finer points of unnecessary American history growing up in Korea. I only even know the name because of L’Enfant Plaza downtown.”

Noah perked up.

“That’s my cue! Okay so Pierre Charles L’Enfant is basically like D.C.’s own personal founding father. He was one of the French emigrants to the colonies during the Revolution who stuck around and became American, like so much so that he even wanted everyone to call him Peter instead of Pierre. He was an engineer and part-time architect who created the urban plan for D.C. when Congress decided to make this area the new capital. He was actually fired and another surveyor took over the job, but his plan was adopted without many edits.”

They all looked at Noah, wide-eyed, taken aback by this rapid-fire amount of information, and then at Henry.

“Did you catch all that?” Gansey asked.

“All what?” Henry replied.

“Shit, he can’t hear Noah!” Ronan laughed. “Sorry man, Noah just read you his dissertation and you couldn’t even appreciate it.”

Gansey, more helpfully, translated the highlights.

“I guess I should give the summary of the papers then, instead,” he continued. “So apparently the guy could also see ghosts. At least, he saw and spoke to this one when he was surveying the land. He said somewhere around New York Avenue. He seemed to think she was dangerous, so he went to some guy to tell him how to do a ritual to bind the spirit so she wouldn’t be out and about and haunting the new town anymore.”

He once again added a point to his list:

  1. _L’Enfant saw the spirit during land surveys (1790s)_
  2. _L’Enfant performed some ritual to subdue the spirit_



“Does he describe the ritual?” Blue asked curiously.

“Sort of, but not exactly step-by-step instructions. The journal did also mention that there was a chance the ritual would twist the spirit in some way, especially the longer it’s bound. Which didn’t sound good. So it’s possible whatever is buried is evil now, if she wasn’t originally. Probably something to keep in mind.”

“I’m still so baffled by this entire thing,” Noah said, laughing. “God, I can’t even imagine what I would have thought if I had actually read this while I was alive. No wonder these papers aren’t part of the public record. I would have thought the guy was batshit, going on about demons and ghosts and stuff. The big scary ‘L’Ombre de Boundary’. Incredible.”

“Fucking— _French_!” Ronan cried suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Goddammit. My dad showed up a couple weeks ago with some cryptic warning about an ‘hombre’ near a boundary. But it’s godamn _French_ , not Spanish. Not ‘ _hombre’_ as in man, ‘ _ombre’_ as in…a color gradient? That doesn’t make any sense either.”

“Ombre translates as shade, or shadow, technically. So it’s not just blending colors, it’s referencing the shading itself,” Gansey explained.

“It’s also one of the French words for spirit. Which seems a lot more relevant than either of your _valuable_ inputs,” Blue chimed in helpfully. “Sounds like he was just calling _her_ a shade.”

“Oh! Okay. Cool, that does make more sense. God, my dad’s a moron. He was going on about some Spanish dude,” Ronan snorted.

“Then ‘L’Ombre de Boundary’ just means Boundary Shadow? You said there was also mention of a boundary in that warning, Ronan? The L’Enfant papers mentioned Boundary Street. So that must be where this spot is, where she was buried.”

“I don’t even know where Boundary Street is. I’ve never heard of it. Are we sure it’s even around here?”

“Oh, that’s my cue again!” Noah piped up. “Boundary Street was the old city limits. Hence the name. When expansion happened in the 19th century it was renamed–it’s Florida Avenue now.”

“Boundary Street is now Florida Avenue…hold up, then that sounds like he’s talking about Cabeswater’s new project site, right?” Ronan said slowly. “If she was seen by New York and Florida? You know that bananas death trap triangle-turned-one-way roundabout that doesn’t make any sense?”

“Wait, are you talking about Dave Thomas Circle?” Blue exclaimed.

“Yes! We’re on the redesign team. So… _shit_ , that must be why Piper was pushing so hard to get the project!” He turned to Adam, eyes wide. “I wonder how trying to build around an evil spirit is gonna affect our design…”

“BACK UP. Forget work for a sec, are you telling me that cursed intersection is ACTUALLY CURSED?? There’s, like, an ACTUAL DEMON SPIRIT under the cursed Wendy’s??” Blue continued, getting more and more hysterical.

Ronan started laughing outright at that. “Sounds like it. Damn, do you think that’s why it’s so fucked up?”

Blue, too, was overcome with hysterics. “I can’t wait to tell my roommates! We go there all the time and it’s always a freaking _Event_ , you know? I can’t believe it’s actually haunted.”

“You’d think there would be something more impressive there than a Wendy’s. Or at least appropriately spooky. Whatever happened to the good classic haunts like the Exorcist stairs?” Gansey asked.

“Pshaw. No evil spirit wants to travel to Georgetown. Despite what those stupid visitor ghost tours say, Georgetown is, like, the least haunted neighborhood in the city,” Blue said dismissively.

“Unless you count Republicans,” Ronan said. Blue pointed at him in agreement.

“Huh, you don’t say? That’s fascinating, actually. Do you know why that is?” Gansey asked, diverted by this new bit of supernatural trivia.

“Maybe demons need to take Metro to get around. That’s why I never go to Georgetown,” Adam joked.

“Ladies and gents, the truth revealed at last. Adam Parrish is a demon!” Ronan exclaimed.

Looks like the morning’s truce was forgotten already. Well, Adam wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

“That’s faulty reasoning, Lynch. Did you skip logic class? Have you never made a simple Venn diagram?” he bit back.

“Yeah, pretty sure it’d go ‘Not all demons are Adam Parrish but all Adam Parrishes are demons,’” Ronan said calmly.

“Jesus Christ, shut up, both of you,” Gansey cut in. “We are so far off-track. Can we please continue?”

Ronan made an exaggerated bowing gesture, twirling his hand as he did so. Gansey gave him an unimpressed look and moved on to the next bullet point on his board.

“This next one is the kicker. We can tell that the spirit isn’t gone for good, because some sort of energy or entity is still having an influence on the people around it. I think we have to assume that these are tied to whoever owns or controls that piece of land, correct? Or at least that’s what Piper thinks. If we refer back to that list she made, stuff kept happening to people on the land after the ghost disappeared.”

  1. _after ritual, sightings disappear, but the fortunes/misfortunes do not_



“So…she wants whatever favor or fortune that the shadow gives to people,” Blue said slowly.

“How does she know that she won’t get the misfortune? Some of these people died. Or lost all their savings and stuff. Especially if the ritual really did twist it into something bad,” Henry commented.

“Is that going to spill over into the whole company, d’you think? I’m really not interested in going broke,” Ronan said mildly.

Adam rolled his eyes. Like Ronan would ever be able to handle being broke. Adam definitely, absolutely did not want to lose everything he’d worked for either, but he was at least pragmatic enough to know that he would be capable of rebuilding. He’d been at the bottom, and he knew he could handle it. Pampered, careless Ronan Lynch had no idea what the bottom looked like.

“So is that really it?” Adam asked the group. “The Greenmantles just wanted to get some measure of control over the land? That still seems suspect. Henry’s point is a good one—even if Piper is turning out to be a little more supervillain than we thought, she’s still extremely thorough. I can’t imagine she’d go through all this trouble just for the possibility of getting some sort of fortune. There’s gotta be more of a guarantee.”

Blue pursed her lips in thought.

“Growing up the way I did, I’ve come to recognize what sorts of things have power, even if I could never exactly feel them myself. And there’s a lot of energy in the world that can be harnessed through natural exchanges, rather than formal rituals. Which makes me wonder if Piper wants to free the shadow itself. Un-bind it. Doing a favor has a power of its own, almost like you enter into a sort of contract that might guarantee a favor in return. A quid-pro-quo with the universe as the backer, you could say. If you add that type of energy to the woman’s own alleged fortune-granting ability, I think it could lead to a pretty powerful result.”

“Like a genie in a bottle situation?”

“Sure, I guess. Or similar to the idea of karma.”

Gansey added a final item to his list:

  1. _freeing the spirit = guaranteed favor??_



“Okay, that makes sense. If that’s how this shadow’s rules work. Or the rules of spiritual energy, or what have you. But we also don’t know if it’s got some twisted moral code, especially if it’s evil. And we don’t know how the Greenmantles would try to free the spirit. Would it just be an undoing of the original ritual?”

“Can I take a look at where L’Enfant described what he did?” Blue asked, grabbing the sheet of paper.

She pored over it for a few minutes, while the rest of the group looked around vaguely, trying not to stare to impatiently at her.

Before long, Blue sat back, satisfied. “Sounds to me like a sort of reverse-exorcism. You know, instead of expelling a spirit from the earth, it was tied to it. Or buried under it, I guess. Metaphorically.”

“So then could we just do an exorcism to free it?” Adam asked.

“ _We_?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Eh. My best guess is that you’d need to modify the typical exorcism. Remember, the spirit isn’t actually hanging around; it’s suppressed. Metaphorically buried. The original binding required a sacrifice, and I think this ritual would also need to include some sort of conduit to free it. Ideally a body.”

“A…body?” Henry looked dubious.

“A live one.”

“A _human_ one?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I thought that went without saying.”

They were all silent while they digested this.

“So, just to sum up, this witch ghost has possibly turned dark or evil, and the way to release her is by getting possessed?” Gansey asked. Blue nodded in agreement. “That seems like a spectacularly terrible idea. Who on earth would think that’s worth it?”

“Our boss, apparently,” Ronan said wryly.

“Welp. How do we stop her?”

They all sat back again, silent, with that puzzle. Adam didn’t need to think for long. He had a feeling that it would eventually come down to this. Once again, his cynicism was supported. He wasn’t looking forward the stares and questions he was sure would come, but he also didn’t think he would be able to keep silent any longer. It would be easier, he reasoned, to do it now rather than later. He was pretty sure that he could trust this group of people, at least.

And after all, he didn’t have to give them all the details.

“I can do it,” Adam said into the silence.

“Do what?” Gansey asked.

“I can handle the shadow.”

“What exactly do you mean by _‘handle’_?” Blue asked slowly.

“I mean I can be the one to perform the ritual. We don’t have to stop Piper, or Colin, or anyone at all if we just get to it first.”

Adam thought this was a very reasonable way to solve the problem. Judging by how everyone was looking at him, no one else agreed.

“Let’s just be clear what we’re talking about. You mean, you can get an evil ghost to _possess_ you?” Ronan said, like it was the wackiest idea he had ever heard. _Ronan_ , of all people. King of stupid wacky ideas.

“It’s not evil. Well, not originally. Probably,” Adam continued to explain in his most patient dealing-with-Ronan-Lynch voice.

“And this will make it not evil again, right?” he asked Blue. She made a face and shrugged uncertainly.

Ronan scoffed. “Don’t be a martyr.”

“I’m not! Sacrifice doesn’t necessarily mean death. I’ll be fine.” He also thought, but did not say out loud, that it might be nice to have some supernatural fortune heaped upon him, for once. As long as Piper had done her homework and was right about this whole thing.

“But what if you aren’t? Sacrifice sounds pretty death-y to me. What on earth makes you think you’d survive, again, _being possessed by a possibly evil spirit_?”

“Because,” Adam hesitated. Now was the time to stop running. He looked down at his hands, feeling somehow as if they were shaking, but they were steady. He took a deep breath.

“Because I’ve done it before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUUUUUUN! way to be as dramatic as possible, adam.
> 
>  **up next:** the tragic backstory™ revealed
> 
>  **unrelated but equally important:** happy new year to all of you lovely people!! fuck 2020, not sorry to see it go. I’m not going to make any predictions about the shittiness level of 2021 but I will send the year off with some [harlem shakes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=guABPOCfzUE) and a prayer.


	13. You Only Die Twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised this wouldn’t be angsty, but adam parrish is in this story so we do have to deal with the shitty elephant in the room. this chapter carries an extra cw for violence, domestic abuse, and death.

_Nine years ago_

Adam trudged up the rickety metal steps to the Parrish trailer, drained and aching after another grueling shift at the factory. He felt sapped of energy, as if his very bones had been wrung out like a wet dishrag. It was after ten, but he had not eaten dinner and he knew he could expect none waiting.

He was so spaced out that he barely even noticed the ghost hanging out on the path to the carport nearby. After an initial startle, he realized it was just Boyd, the neighborhood ghost that had been on friendly terms with Adam since he was a child. He gave the man a tired nod and a wave as he passed.

He probably should have anticipated his father’s anger. Robert Parrish’s mood swings followed no real discernible pattern, and anything could set him off—which paradoxically made them almost predictable. At the very least, Adam was well aware by this time that he should never let his guard down. But constant attention to threat was exhausting. And he had already reached his threshold for exhaustion from two long shifts at two separate jobs, very little food, and even less sleep.

So when the sky fell in that night, he was somehow still caught unprepared.

Not that you could ever really prepare for such a thing. No amount of bracing, flinching, or logical reasoning that this was just temporary could make the act any different. He might as well greet each feeling evoked like an old friend. He was well used to pain. Fear was a constant shadow. He lived with the shame attached to living in poverty every waking hour. And yet, somehow, these old friends were the type that sensitized rather than habituated. Each little stab only made the next worse.

It began that night with a too-loud footfall. As good a reason as any for Robert Parrish, Adam supposed. He had spent years of his life tiptoeing around his father, metaphorically and literally, but as unguarded as he was that night, he just wasn’t able to spare the extra bit of energy to temper his footsteps. He sank down at the foldable card table that served as their kitchen table, sighing and shucking his shoes off. As he slowly bent down to remove his sweaty, dirt-stained socks, out of the corner of his eye he saw the door to his parents’ room creak open.

Shit.

He stood up, automatically putting his hands out as if to calm a wild animal. His brain screamed at him to _just keep calm, just act normal. It’s worse if he thinks you’re bracing_.

“Stomp in here like you own the place, you little fuck, dis…disturbing a man from his hard-earned rest?” his father slurred, words bumping together and tripping over each other through a combination of disturbed sleep and lingering whiskey.

“Sorry dad, I just got off work—” Adam tried to apologize, to somehow diffuse the mood. He knew his father was in no condition to listen to reason—he never was, really—but that never stopped Adam from trying. More fool him.

“You need a lesson. Gotta learn to respect your elders, _boy_ ,” his father cut in, pulling Adam’s collar to snarl directly into his face.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Adam said again, as calmly as he could. “I’ll just go straight to bed, quietly, and you can too—”

The first blow came without any more warning, a backhand slap across his face. Drunk as he was, his father still managed to put his entire shoulder into the action, and Adam staggered, falling against the table, which collapsed partly under his weight.

The night spiraled from there.

What Robert Parrish labeled “lessons” weren’t always too bad. Often it was just the one punch, or slap, or shove, just to put Adam in his place. Make sure he wasn’t getting too big for his britches. Remind him that he came from dust, and he could just as easily be returned to it, if he didn’t _watch his damn mouth, you little bastard_.

Occasionally, however, it was like this: unaccountable rage, not subject to reason or pity, that carried on, and on, and on.

Adam thought he might die.

He could not remember ever, in his life, asking for help. Possibly he had as a child. But whatever _lessons_ he might have learned in his youth had discouraged the act. Maybe he had sought help and received none. Maybe he had been taught that asking for help was a weakness, and showing weakness in front of his father only led to more pain.

That didn’t stop him from thinking it, sometimes. He didn’t know if he believed in God, and he certainly didn’t believe in a God that was benevolent, or else He never would have created this mess of a life that Adam was stuck in like a fly to a web. But sometimes he still prayed, or pleaded, or simply— _wanted_. For relief. For it all to just stop. In those moments, he forgot about all the lessons he’d learned, that he could rely on no one but himself, and he reached out for anything his dirt-stained fingers could grab. This was one of those nights.

Robert Parrish’s fist slammed into Adam’s gut, and he doubled over, retching. He was pretty sure at least one bone in his ribcage was broken. Maybe one in his arm as well. His head felt shattered, stabbing pain spidering out from his left temple, and as he tried to stand, the room spun around him and the trailer closed in alarmingly. He had been knocked unconscious before, and he could recognize the signs now.

As his body was considering collapse, he reached out—not speaking, certainly not asking for mercy from his father, who would take such pleading as a weakness to be stamped out. Adam didn’t even reach out with his thoughts, exactly—his head was spinning too much, hurting too much, each attempted coherent thought bursting like a soap bubble as soon as it was formed. Instead, it was as if every cell in his body simply extended outward at once— _please. Please, someone, help me. God, Boyd, just—anyone. If you can hear me? Please help me survive this_.

Adam suddenly caught a glimpse of Boyd standing behind his father. But his vision was blurred, and the room was still spinning, so he couldn’t be sure that what he was seeing was real. Maybe the ghost was just a hallucination from Adam’s fevered, swollen brain. He reached out a hand, or maybe he just thought about that as well. He blinked and Boyd was gone.

He felt another fist at his sternum, and heat surged out from the point of impact. He gasped.

The heat didn’t stop, though, and he realized that—it didn’t hurt. He felt it, but the pain throughout the rest of his body was actually lessening, somehow. And so was the nausea, and the confusion. He suddenly realized he could stand upright again.

The room kept growing hotter.

He looked to his right, and saw that Boyd really had materialized there in the trailer with them and had grabbed onto Adam’s shoulder. The heat that had started in Adam’s chest a moment ago was filling him up and stretching outward, coursing through every vein and muscle until he felt full to the brim. His skin felt paper-thin, just barely holding the expanding heat inside his body. He thought wildly that he might burst open like a rotten fruit if touched again.

Suddenly, Adam’s head snapped backward. He made a soundless gasp toward the ceiling, and the air he inhaled was seeped with crackling ozone, as if a heavy thunderstorm were about to break out and ravage the inside of the trailer itself.

He was all at once engulfed in an inferno. He couldn’t quite tell if it was real or not. He couldn’t see any fire, and it still didn’t _hurt_ , exactly, so he didn’t think it was real. But that didn’t change the sensation of flames licking up and down every muscle in his body.

His head swung back down, and his eyes latched back onto his father. Robert Parrish must have seen something in Adam’s face to make him pause. His slow, drunken gaze was suddenly uncertain. Adam wondered if it was the flames he saw, or something else. He was distinctly uncomfortable with the fact that he had no idea what his body was doing, or even how it looked. He was not in control of anything.

“What the fuck is wrong with your eyes?” his father slurred, lip curling.

Adam didn’t speak. He didn’t think he could, but he didn’t try. It had never been worth the effort to try to speak to his father, anyways. He just stared, and his body felt steady, and sure, and not his own.

“You always were… _wrong_ , boy. _Unnatural_ ,” Robert Parrish continued, sounding disgusted. He seemed to be trying to shake off this new uncertainty, to re-exert the typical power he held over his son.

Adam continued to stare at him.

And then three things happened, one after another, and in a split second the world was turned on its end.

One: Robert Parrish reached again for Adam, clumsily grasping at his hair.

Two: Adam, for the first time in his life, pushed back.

Three: Robert Parrish was, somehow, suddenly, on the floor. And he was not moving.

Adam gasped again, but there was no air. The heat had burned it all up. He tried to take a step, and finally, _finally,_ he collapsed.

__________

When Adam awoke, it was to the sight of a sterile white ceiling above a sterile white hospital bed. He was alone. No one else was in the room, and he soon learned from the nurse who bustled in to check his vitals that this was not a mistake. There was no one in the waiting room for him either. No one ever showed up to visit him.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He was, in fact, visited by the police, who informed him that his father was dead. It was ruled an accident: Robert Parrish had hit his head on the ground, after falling over blind drunk, after beating his son to a pulp. Adam supposed he should be grateful that they hadn’t considered charging him for anything. Maybe he should be grateful to his dead father for severe enough injuries that it was painfully obvious none of this had been Adam’s fault.

Eh. He’d probably hold off on the flowers for that particular bit of kindness.

When he was finally discharged—uninsured, with an astronomical bill that he had no idea what to do with—he went home to seek out his mother. He found her sitting in her usual broken rocking chair, staring out the dingy window to the dirt and prickle-grass front yard as if nothing at all had changed. As if she hadn’t even noticed the absence of both her husband and her son. She barely glanced up at Adam as he stepped through the door. Adam wasn’t surprised. He had not seen hide nor hair of her during the Incident, anyways. Why should he expect that she’d care about him now that it was over?

Over the next few days, though, things began to get a little bit better. His mother clearly blamed him for her husband’s death, but she had never been warm towards him, and at least she didn’t toss out physical reprimands to go along with her verbal barbs. She’d always been more of a fan of the passive-aggressive than the aggressive-aggressive. Adam could deal with that. He blamed himself, anyways, so it wasn’t like she could make him feel that much worse. At least she’d never throw him out, since she now relied even more on the meager income from his jobs. Adam didn’t try to convince her to apply for jobs herself, but he did wonder what she’d do once he graduated and moved out. He wondered what he’d do—would he continue to support her out of some fucked-up sense of obligation? Even after everything?

He probably would.

He hated himself for it.

And yet, Adam finally started to breathe easier—to really exhale, deeply, for the first time in sixteen years. He worked out a payment plan with the hospital, which meant funneling large chunks of what would have been college money essentially down the drain, but now at least this drain didn’t take the shape of the typical whiskey-and-beer tax to his father. His mother, for all her faults, had far less expensive an appetite.

He knew it would take much longer to let go of the constantly cocked hair-trigger flight or freeze response he had built up over the years. (Flight or fight was a myth, he’d found. He was not the type of prey animal to attempt to fight off a predator.) But he decided to start trying, at least. His heart began to calm down, and he began training himself to stop glancing over his shoulder, to stop curling into the smallest version of himself he could manage. He even found himself stepping more firmly.

Slowly, steadily, he began to rebuild.

__________

The newly papered-over cracks in his rebuilt sky lasted an entire month before crashing in again.

It was all the worse because he had finally begun to let his guard down. Finally gotten used to the silence, the stillness. You never expect lighting to strike twice. And you definitely don’t expect it to strike upwards from the grave. Robert Parrish’s rage had always been unpredictable, and as it turned out, not even death could stop it.

Adam was in the carport digging through a large box of miscellany for an Allen wrench when he heard the shuffle of approaching feet from behind. He looked back, completely unaware, thinking that perhaps his mom had come looking for him. He had promised her that the clogged sink would be fixed that day.

It was not his mother.

“There you are, you little shitstain.” Adam heard an all-too familiar voice drawl, dripping with vitriol, a split second before his head was slammed against the hood of the car he had been about to begin work on.

As he gazed up at the enraged ghost of Robert Parrish, looking somehow even larger than he had in life, Adam wondered if he might actually have died, too, during the Incident. Because here, at last, was proof of hell. If there was a higher power, if fate existed in whatever form it might take, it knew that Adam did not deserve happiness, could not have comfort, would never find stability. Adam would never know peace. Adam was not even good enough for purgatory. He would be stuck forever in this horror, reliving his trauma like it was goddamn Groundhog Day.

He had always assumed that he could just wait his problems out. A few short years and he could simply outlive his past, his scars, and his shame. This had given him some hope, some light at the end of the tunnel to look toward. Things might have been bad, but if he could only survive, they would get better.

He realized then in an instant of despair how naïve he’d been. How utterly, incomprehensibly _stupid_. He would never be allowed to move on from his past because it would never become his past. This would never, ever end.

And now, there was no one left who could help him.

__________

If Adam thought that Robert Parrish had been a volatile explosion waiting to happen before he died, it was nothing compared to how he was after. He had no way to tell when his father’s ghost would show up next, or what fresh horror he would bring when he arrived. Adam slept badly. Obviously. He woke up each morning to dread, sour and toxic, flooding his stomach and his chest and his shaking hands.

Before, there were glorious stretches of time during school or work where Adam could escape his father’s rage. Many days he barely even saw the man. Now, though, Robert Parrish had no other distractions, no other hobbies. He existed only to torture Adam. And nowhere was safe.

There were the small things, meant simply to make him jump. Small, sharp pricks of pain. Loud, unexpected noises. Soft, sibilant, poisonous whispers in his one working ear. Adam was useless. Stupid. Unable to be loved because he was so fundamentally wrong. Forever broken and utterly, _utterly_ worthless. A waste of space. Better off dead. The world wouldn’t miss him, anyways. They’d all be glad to be rid of him, dead weight trailer trash that he was.

There were the larger things, meant for worse damage. Heavy boxes and machinery began to fall dangerously near him during his factory and warehouse shifts. His bicycle brakes were cut. (Luckily, he only ran into a parked car. He sprained a wrist as he fell, but it could have been far worse.) A few days later, he felt a firm shove between his shoulder blades while standing at a busy intersection, waiting to cross the street. He stumbled, and only just managed to grab onto the light pole before falling directly into the path of a speeding car.

It became almost a routine, this hell. And so Adam fell quickly and deeply back into the habit of never, ever letting his guard down.

At first, he naively thought that Robert Parrish might leave on his own when he had gotten his fill of entertainment. The near-fatal close calls made him certain that this wasn’t his plan—the spirit wasn’t looking for vengeance by simply terrorizing Adam for a while. He blamed Adam for his death, and he seemed determined to drag him down into the grave as well. Retribution, probably. Or else simple spite.

In any case, Adam realized that he couldn’t just wait around for this storm to pass. He’d either have to live with this for the rest of his life, or he’d have to make peace with dying an early death.

Or he’d make a third path.

__________

Adam chained his newly repaired bike to the rack in front of the public library on a Wednesday after school. He had a rare afternoon free from work, and there hadn’t yet been a glimpse of his father all day, so he had biked straight over from school. He had finally decided to do this out in the open—he was staying vigilant, but it was pretty difficult to hide from a ghost, after all. He wasn’t sure what other options he had.

Still, he didn’t need to be too obvious. Was it better to grab an out-of-the-way computer in a deserted corner of the building, or one in the center where he could feel surrounded by a crowd? The first would allow him some privacy from eyes over his shoulder, but the second might discourage his father from any really nasty incidents. On second thought, a crowd hadn’t stopped him yet. Adam went to the corner desktop and, quickly glancing over his shoulder, typed into the search bar.

After a few minutes of trawling through nonsense, he found a likely looking website with the header “ **Dealing with Troublesome Spirits: Best Practices** ”. It even looked like a proper website, not something hosted on angelfire and untouched since the late nineties. He was pretty impressed at the IT skills of modern witches, and it made him feel better about the potentially bizarre stuff he was about to attempt.

The site boasted a number of links to further information and, he hoped, instructions. He clicked on the first one, labeled “ _To exorcise a spirit ”_ and began to read.

_ To exorcise a spirit _

_An exorcism will expel an unwanted spirit from a place or a person._

_The typical exorcism can be generally thought of in the Catholic style. For something like this, you’ll need to find (or be) an ordained priest, some holy items (e.g. crosses, holy water, burning incense, and the like), and it would also be good to have some working knowledge of Latin. However, this does not need to be Catholic. Many religions have their own version of an exorcism (see links at the bottom for details)._

**_This type of rite does not change or do further damage to the spirit._ ** _The spirit will not be able to return to the exorcised area, but would be free to roam elsewhere. Because of this, it’s the easiest to perform but may be a temporary solution._

_For more permanent solutions to hauntings, see the following rituals:_

_ To bury a spirit _

_ To bind a spirit _

_ To banish a spirit _

_ To destroy a spirit _

Adam clicked on the “ _To banish a spirit_ ” link.

_ To banish a spirit _

_Banishing is much more serious than a simple binding or exorcism. This will remove the spirit completely from the mortal plane of existence, and cast it into whatever fate awaits it in the next. **The soul will not be able to return from this uncertain fate without a supremely powerful act of magic or God (i.e. raising the dead. We have no instructions for this, and there are no records of this ever happening successfully)**. As no one on Earth actually knows what we may find in the next life, you should think very carefully before attempting this._

Adam did not need to think at all carefully about this. A permanent jettison into hell was exactly the solution he was looking for. He quickly jotted down the instructions and materials he would need to complete the ritual, and moved the mouse to close the window.

Then, he hesitated.

He went back to the main page and, once again glancing swiftly over his shoulder, clicked on “ _To destroy a spirit_ ”.

_ To destroy a spirit _

_There is one final way to deal with a haunting. This should only be used as an **absolute last resort** ; banishing will work very well even for the most troublesome or dangerous spirits. Destroying a soul means eliminating it completely._

**_THERE WILL BE NOTHING LEFT OF THE PERSON, ANYWHERE, IN ANY PLANE OF EXISTENCE. THIS IS IRREVERSIBLE_ ** _._

Adam sat with this possibility. Was this a preferable fate? Which was worse, continued existence in hell or total oblivion? Did he even _want_ the greater punishment, or was he comparing them to determine which was the lesser?

Which would make him feel safer?

Which would allow him to live with himself after?

Was he really so cruel as to commit either of these? Who was he to make this sort of choice, deciding on the fate of others like some petty tyrant god?

Well. He had already caused his father’s death, he reasoned, so that ship had sailed. And Robert Parrish had made his own bed.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he wrote down these directions as well. He closed the tabs, cleared the browser history, and hurried out of the library.

__________

He chose a quiet Monday night for the ritual. It was the beginning of another long work week, so it was less likely to be broken up by any raucous partyers in the neighborhood. The carport was illuminated by a clear sky bursting with stars and a bright, full moon looked down on Adam as he made the necessary preparations.

As he painted a large symbol on the gritty, cracked floor of the empty space, as he looked over his carefully written out Latin notes, as he tried to keep a sturdy grip on his squirming sacrifice, he couldn’t help but think, _God, I hope I’m making the right choice._

The ritual itself was no worse than anything else he’d endured, really. Naturally, his father appeared halfway through. He tried to stop Adam with everything he had, physical and psychic, but all that he managed was one last bruised eye and a final snarling curse before he was— _gone_.

Adam lay on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and pressing one cheek to the dusty concrete. His heart was a missile and his hands were covered in blood.

He never saw Robert Parrish again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting this chapter done was like pulling my own teeth out, I swear. I’d had it outlined forever but kept avoiding the actual writing part because I hate making my boy suffer :( I had been aiming to finish/post wednesday and then was unfortunately distracted by the violent mobs of nazis attempting a coup down the road. hope everyone is doing ok, hang in there pals <3
> 
> **up next:** gansey gets to nerd out again! he’s living his best life in this story tbh.


	14. Wires and Whistleblowers

_Present day_

Everyone around the sun-lit table went absolutely still at Adam’s announcement. What the fuck did he mean, he’d _done it before_?

“You’re gonna have to expand on that a little,” Ronan said, because someone needed to break the uncomfortable silence. He was feeling almost literally stunned, like he had been struck on the head and now there were little birds twittering around his temple. The entire day had felt unreal, and this was yet another bizarre chapter in la-la land. He was sure it was really happening though—he didn’t think even his imagination could make this up.

Adam leveled him with a steady look. “I don’t think I do.”

“No, you really, _really_ do,” Blue jumped in. “I mean, what the hell? You’ve been _possessed_? What happened? How did you do it? How did it feel? How did you get out of it alive? Does this happen regularly?”

Adam sighed. Ronan could already see the cogs turning, revving up his usual little dance of conversational deferral and deflection. This was clearly a deeply uncomfortable topic for him. Well, tough shit.

“It only happened once,” Adam started with the last question, still annoyingly calm. “I’m not sure how it happened exactly, the mechanics of the thing are a little hazy. It was, I don’t even know how to say it, a good rather than evil possession?”

“Who possessed you?” Ronan asked shortly.

“A ghost from my neighborhood.”

“Why?”

“I was in a bit of a tough situation, and I sort of just—projected outward that I needed help. I wasn’t consciously thinking that I’d like to be possessed, but I guess somehow that was the result. And it happened, and…I’m still here.”

“So is this something that everyone could potentially do, or just you?” Blue asked. She sounded curious rather than accusatory.

Ronan hadn’t exactly meant to sound accusatory, himself. He was just very familiar with the markers of Adam’s stubbornness wrapped in “reason”, and this was not the time for it. Especially since Adam had been the one to bring up the topic. There was no way Ronan was letting him _Adam Parrish_ his way out of this one.

Adam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

“Just you!” Opal piped up. Ronan looked around to find her behind them. The hell? Had she been standing in the garden this entire time?

“How the fuck do _you_ know?” he asked her, irritated.

“Ronan. Don’t swear at your ghost child,” Gansey reproached.

Opal ignored him. “I told you before, he’s a big wire!” And just like before, she placed her hand on Adam’s forearm. His hair stood on end.

Everyone was once again staring at Adam.

“Where did that come from? Who _are_ you?” Blue asked in amazement.

“I swear, I don’t know what this wire thing is. Somehow she’s directing her energy—through me, I think? She did it once earlier. I guess maybe…that’s how the possession happened, too? That’s just a guess, though.”

“Does that mean you could possess him too, if you wanted?” Ronan asked her.

Opal didn’t answer. She just stared at him solemnly, dark eyes unblinking. Ronan threw up his hands in frustration. Fucking mysterious ghosts. Always give a single tidbit of vague information and then refuse to explain further. Everyone was being goddamn difficult today.

The rest of the group was still giving Adam furtive, cursory glances, trying to look like they weren’t staring. Ronan was pretty sure the mixture of wariness and disbelief he saw on the faces around the table was mirrored on his own. Adam himself was still putting up his front of perfect composure. He seemed completely unbothered by everyone else’s reactions. The walls were up. Had they ever even been down? Ronan remembered their sleepy conversation that morning like a half-forgotten dream.

“So, anyways, I could probably do it again. Is what I meant. If that’s what the ritual to free the shadow needs,” Adam finished up his pitch a little lamely.

The rest of the group digested this. Then—

“I think that’s the stupidest fucking plan I’ve ever heard in my life,” Ronan said flatly. Just, fucking _no_. There’s no way that he— _they_ were letting Adam do that.

Adam looked at him in irritation. “Yeah, well, you would.”

Ronan couldn’t believe there was anyone else around the table that was even remotely entertaining this idea. He looked around for support.

“Honestly, Ronan’s not wrong. I don’t like that plan either,” Gansey chimed in.

Ronan shot Gansey a look of gratitude.

“Why not? It keeps everything simple, and it should be easy enough to pull off, especially if what Opal says is—”

“It’s not simple; it’s _risky_. There’s too much we don’t know. You said you don’t actually know how it happened before, so you don’t know if it could happen again, or if this is the even the same thing.”

“I think it is,” Adam said stubbornly.

“None of us can know that!” Ronan shot out, exasperated. There was nothing like a little Parrish mulishness to knock Ronan’s head clear out of whatever weird alternate-dimension trance he’d been in earlier. “First of all, we don’t have enough information about this shadow, or her favor, or the mechanics of this ritual. It could be satanic, for all we know. And second of all, because you _won’t give us any details about what happened the first time your magical fucking possession power appeared_. How are we supposed to know that it’s not going to end up with you dead, or permanently inhabited by an evil demon or some shit?”

“You already made that joke.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not fucking joking this time.” He folded his arms in a deliberate gesture of defiance.

“Okay, you know what? I’m sick of you always—”

“Wait!” Gansey cut in. He always seemed to do that right when their arguments started getting heated. “I just had a brilliant idea. What if we could bypass the whole supernatural thing altogether?”

“How exactly do you propose we do that?” Adam asked, obviously skeptical.

“Well, the diaries might have been the most interesting part from a historical perspective. Not to mention a magical one. And I think it’s important that we understand what Piper is trying to do. But don’t forget that we got her computer and desk contents too—there might still be something shady in those contracts or other work documents.”

“Like what?”

“Like, say, murder for hire? Forget the shadow. They did still have Noah killed, and we have evidence that at least Colin Greenmantle was involved. If they’re cool with murder, I have to imagine that any and all other crimes are on the table too.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that could work.”

Adam, usually so damn rational, still looked unconvinced at this idea. Why the hell was he so eager to jump into this completely unknown danger, anyways? Ronan was usually the one to jump first and ask questions later. Did Adam have some hidden death wish? Was he secretly a daredevil? Or was he just supremely fucking _stupid_?

“Wipe that sour look off your face,” he suggested. “This is way more logical, and it might involve boring contracts, you love that shit. Not to mention all the above-the-board rule following. Don’t you want to take her down with the full support of the law?”

“Well considering we trespassed and stole those documents, it’s definitely not legal,” Adam pointed out mildly.

“Hmm,” Ronan grunted. That was a good point, actually. “Gans, can we do something about that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gansey said distractedly as he flipped through the photocopied pages. “There are all sorts of rules about protecting sources and whistleblowers if we send something incriminating anonymously. We just have to make sure we get the right pieces of information to the right people.”

“See, Parrish? This is a safer, easier, and way more airtight plan. If we don’t find anything incriminating enough to nail her, we can revisit your fucking martyr complex.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a martyr complex. I was just doing my part to solve the problem. You don’t have to freak the fuck out. I’m okay with this.”

Ronan narrowed his eyes at him in return. He was convincing—Adam Parrish was always convincing—but Ronan still somehow wasn’t super convinced.

At Gansey’s pronouncement and Adam’s agreement, it was clear the decision was made and therefore the meeting was concluded. The day was getting late, anyways. They all trooped inside, and Gansey sat down at the laptop to start sifting through Piper’s work files. He wasn’t exactly a legal expert, only being in his first year of school, but at least he was familiar with legalese, so he was the natural point person.

“Okay, gang,” Henry started. “I will take on the burden of encrypting those GCNN records and will send them anonymously to the FBI tip account. At least that way we know someone will look into it.”

“Untraceable?”

“Naturally.”

“Badass.” Blue gave him a fist bump.

“Piper is going to be harder to pin, probably,” Gansey said, not taking his eyes off the laptop. “This stuff will take a while to comb through. I’m going to transfer all of this to my own computer so I can keep digging.”

As they all took their leave and trooped out the front door, Ronan gazed thoughtfully at Adam’s retreating back. He had pivoted quickly to accepting the safer plan, but Ronan was still slightly disconcerted. He felt like he was continuously being thrown for a loop. All of his preconceptions about the man kept getting flipped or turned around or completely fucking obliterated. He used to be able to predict Adam’s behavior so well, and now he felt like had no idea what was going to come next. It was making him jumpy. But barring tying him up and keeping him captive in the garage, he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

He’d just have to trust Adam.

__________

Ronan met up with Gansey after his Torts class got out on Wednesday evening. He always let Gansey pick their dinner spots, because Gansey was always going on about “finding the local color” and “I read about this new hole-in-the-wall that I’m dying to try!” and “José Andrés gets a lot of praise, as he should, but he is not the only great chef in the area! Have you heard about _(insert hipster restaurant here)_?” Ronan couldn’t remember them all, but he could swear that at least half of them had “goat” in the name.

“So, how’s the search for incriminating shit going?” he asked as after they had ordered at the ramen place that Gansey had insisted on this time. Not that Ronan was complaining. He was dying for some pork buns.

Gansey shrugged. “Rather dull, actually, but not any duller than the reading material for my classes. I might have found some evidence of bribery, but I need to double and triple check the city’s laws before I can be certain.”

“Aren’t people always bribing the city council? Would anyone even care about that?”

“Er, yes. Certain councilmembers. Still, it might be enough to stick her with some consequences. Even if it’s common, it’s still illegal. I hope.”

“Are lawyers supposed to pin their advice on things they hope are true?” Ronan snorted.

“Hey, I’m just a 1L. If you want real legal advice, you should go see a real lawyer. Like, for instance, your brother.”

“Never heard of him.”

Gansey gave him a look. “He’s fine, by the way.”

“I know,” Ronan relented. “You don’t need to lecture me; I talked to him not that long ago. Jordan’s trying to convince him to go on an extended vacation to London, apparently.”

“Oh, that would be so fun! London is such a wonderful city. And her sister still lives there, right?”

Ronan nodded, but didn’t expand. He liked Declan’s girlfriend a lot, but there was only so much conversational bandwidth he could devote to his brother before he started fantasizing about shoving a chopstick in his eye.

“Anything else new in your life?” Gansey asked cheerily, as they started on their food.

“Dude, you’ve spent so much time with me the past few weeks. You know literally everything that’s going on in my life. It’s exactly what’s going on in your life, dipshit.”

“Hmm. I guess that’s true.” Gansey slurped daintily at a spoonful of ramen before continuing in a different vein.

“I really like Adam,” he said abruptly. Ronan paused, chopsticks stuffed with noodles halfway to his mouth.

“Something you wanna tell me, Dick?” he asked, amused.

“I—what? No, you know that is not what I meant. Although, I couldn't help but notice—”

("Bet you could," Ronan grumbled under his breath. Gansey ignored him and continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.)

“—that little scene in the garage the other day. Is there something _you_ want to tell _me_?" Ah. So that’s what he had been trying to lead up to. Ronan gave him a poisonous look.

"Nope. You set the goddamn thing up. It was your fault. And anyway, there was no scene."

"I'm just saying, if there's anything on your end you'd like to talk about, I'm here."

Ronan stayed silent. Gansey sighed and went back to his original point.

“Regardless, even if I’m completely off-base with the two of you, I approve of Adam. He’s great. I’d love to get to know him better. Do you think he’d be amenable to hanging out with us more? Would you be okay with that?”

“ _Amenable_? God, yes, _fine_ Gansey. You have my permission to court Adam Parrish. Just don’t come crying to me when he bites your head off over something stupid you said.”

Ronan knew it was bound to happen eventually. He’d been on the receiving end of Adam’s wrath enough to know what would trigger it, and Gansey’s— _Ganseyness_ —was definitely going to get on his nerves eventually. But of course Ronan wouldn’t deny him this ask. It had been years since he’d gotten prickly about his best friend trying to make new friends, and despite what Declan thought, Ronan had matured. Somewhat. Gansey had stuck with him through his worst, so he wasn’t likely to drop Ronan now that they were adults and he was (relatively) well-adjusted. And anyways, Adam wasn’t the worst person to be around, so he could deal.

“What do you think of Blue?” Gansey asked next.

“What is this, an interrogation about potential suitors?”

“Ah, so you admit it,” Gansey pointed a chopstick at him in genial accusation.

“I admit nothing. There’s nothing to admit,” Ronan said stubbornly. But truthfully. There was nothing to admit. At least, there was nothing to report. Nothing had happened, or was likely to happen, between him and Adam Parrish.

“Blue’s fine,” he allowed.

“So you’d be fine with her hanging out with us more, too?”

“You’re really trying to get this Ghostbusters thing permanentized, aren’t you? Gonna make us members-only jackets? Our own matching Camaros?”

Gansey shrugged. “I just like them both. They’re very cool people, and I would like to continue to see them. Making friends as an adult is weird. I apologize if this is sounding very formal, but I’m not sure how else to do this.”

Ronan chuckled. “You’re such a nerd. Fine. You have my permission to court Blue Sargent, too.”

Gansey blushed at that one. Well. There might never be anything between him and Adam, but there definitely might be something between Gansey and Blue. Maybe something had already happened.

Ronan felt abruptly lonely at the thought.

__________

Apropos of nothing, he sought Adam out at work the next afternoon.

“Hey, Parrish. Can I ask your input on something?”

Adam looked up curiously. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I’m working out that stretch of bare land that’s left over if we re-route the street the way we talked about yesterday. We said garden, but I don’t know shit about plants. I know it’s not really up to us what they plant, but I want the mockup to look nice. And realistic. I thought you might know…?” he trailed off.

“Sage,” Adam said immediately. “And wild jasmine. Since the place is _literally_ haunted, it probably couldn’t hurt to have either of them around. Look nice, too. Oh, and yarrow! And for more color variety, maybe some Virginia bluebells? Daffodils grow well around here, too.”

Ronan was slightly taken aback. “Thanks,” he said, surprised at the enthusiasm his casual question received.

He knocked once on the door frame for emphasis and retreated. Walking all the way to Adam’s office seemed unnecessary, now. But he hadn’t seen Adam all day, and something had been itching at him under his skin. Weird. Like he was compelled to go make sure he hadn’t done anything stupid where Ronan couldn’t see him.

When he got back to his office, he noticed a waiting text from Gansey in the group chat.

**_group chat: ghostbusters_ **

**_5 members_ **

**Gansey** : [picture]

**Gansey** : Confirmed: they’re regular everyday crooks as well as murderers!

**Ronan** : nobody knows what that means

**Gansey** : she bribed a DC councilmember to win the contract. Your entire project is fraudulent, sorry bro

**Ronan** : damn just when we figured out the flower arrangements too

**Adam** : should I have recced some toxic plants instead? Let’s plant nightshade.

**Blue:** belladonna

**Adam** : monkshood

**Gansey** : why don’t we start by exposing the fraud? We can work up to poison when that becomes necessary.

**Blue** : spoilsport

**Henry** : send over the docs (please not the poison) and let me know the recipient

**Gansey** : Henry, you are truly invaluable! A prince among men.

**Blue** : thx Henry!!

**Adam** : Noah says thanks too

**Henry** : You’re all very welcome. Except Lynch - you’re never welcome.

**Ronan** : 🖕

Well, that settled that. After weeks of work, the problem was out of their hands. Now all they had to do was wait.

__________

As Ronan brushed his teeth that night, he mulled over the conversation he had with Gansey over dinner. Had he been right? Gansey could be prying, and he was definitely overeager, but that didn’t mean his perceptions were always wrong.

Ronan tried to envision what it would be like to have Adam hanging out with them regularly, unprompted by work- or ghost-related matters. The scenes running through his mind already seemed completely different than they might have a few short weeks ago. He had become so used to seeing Adam around his house that it was strange to remember that it hadn’t always been this way. They still butted heads regularly, but most of the time the tiffs were less poisonous now. At least on his end.

Like earlier, for instance. He had actually gone to see Adam, in person, unprompted, for advice on a design. He never used to do that. And it was a question that could have easily been solved with a slack message, but Ronan had chosen to go bug him in person.

Well, okay, the impulse to bug or distract Adam wasn’t new. Nor was the fact that he really enjoyed seeing Adam’s face. He’d always known the guy was hot as fuck. But ever since he had discovered that Adam carried more depth than Ronan had ever given him credit for, he had begun to actually seek Adam out for more than his own stupid amusement.

He was beginning to realize that he hadn’t given his blessing, as it were, only for Gansey’s sake of making new friends. He didn’t want to lose Adam either. But that still didn’t mean that Gansey was right. Did it? He and Adam were just…friends, now. He was pretty sure. He thought of him as a friend.

So, okay. What about the past weekend, when he had such an immediate and visceral negative reaction to that harebrained, reckless scheme of Adam’s? Was that just because it was harebrained and reckless? That couldn’t be right—those were his favorite kinds of schemes. Was it that he hadn’t thought of it? No, that couldn’t be it either. He wasn’t proprietorial in that way; he’d happily join in on someone else’s stupid plans. Which only left—he was worried about Adam. He didn’t want Adam to get hurt. And sure, he didn’t want any of the rest of the team to get hurt, either. Not even Cheng. But would he have reacted the same way if one of them had suggested it instead of Adam? Somehow, he didn’t think so.

Was the gravitational pull that Ronan felt toward Adam more than friendship? More than simple physical attraction? Putting aside the fact that Adam probably still hated him. Did _he_ like Adam?

Simply acknowledging the question caused a swoop in his gut. A little drumline in his heart. Shit. Okay, that was enlightening. His body had clearly been well aware of the fact, his mind just hadn’t been ready to confront it.

Goddammit, he hated when Gansey was right.

He definitely should have realized the signs earlier, too—he knew he had always been the pigtail-pulling type. And Adam had made it very clear that he was not the type to be amused by his pigtails being pulled.

He sighed and flopped backwards into bed. He was such an idiot.

This was going to be really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooooh now we’re cooking
> 
> **up next:** some important conversations are had! things get fun and then things get serious and then things get fun again.


	15. Revels and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild cw for discussion of child abuse/death. no more flashbacks though.

**THE WASHINGTON POST**

**Friday, August 7**

**Cabeswater Consulting CEO Charged with Bribery**

_Piper Greenmantle, pictured left, was immediately dismissed by the board of directors for multiple alleged crimes related to the firm’s Florida Avenue park project. Criminal investigations are ongoing, and anonymous sources within the FBI suggest some may be far more serious._

**_Gansey_** **:** I’m coming over after class! Bring Adam! This calls for a celebratory drink.

“Check it out!”

Ronan barreled into Adam’s office brandishing the Metro section of the Post. Adam was uncharacteristically colorful in a pastel blue button-down that morning. The starlings that had taken up residence in Ronan’s insides fluttered their wings lightly at how brilliant Adam’s eyes looked, highlighted by the color. Now that he had acknowledged and accepted his fate, he couldn’t _stop_ noticing new things about Adam. Or more specifically, he couldn’t stop noticing his own reactions to those things. He really hoped this wasn’t going to become a problem.

“Hmm. Nothing about hiring the hitmen?” Adam asked, looking critically over the article.

“Probably takes longer to prove. The cops or FBI or whoever might not want the murder stuff public knowledge in case it screws up their investigation. But you can still fire someone with cause without them being found guilty yet.”

“Think this’ll be enough?”

Ronan shrugged. “Heard anything through the water cooler grapevine about the fallout?”

“I’m not really known as the office gossip, so no. No one’s said anything to me.”

“Same. Well, we should keep ears open, but this seems like it might have actually worked. In any case, Gansey’s throwing a party at mine tonight.”

“Like a _party_ party?” Adam sounded skeptical. Ronan could relate. He laughed.

“No way. Gansey doesn’t have that many friends. I think he just wants to celebrate our resounding success, so just an unofficial Ghostbusters ‘do.”

Adam’s lips quirked. “You should really find a new name. We didn’t bust a single ghost. Just…a person’s career.”

Ronan just smirked in return and walked back out the door, humming the Ghostbusters theme song.

__________

Barely a month had passed since Noah’s sudden arrival, as difficult as that was to believe. It already seemed like this had always been a part of Ronan’s life. They had their routine down now: Ronan waited for Adam to finish up and stop by his office, so they could walk down to the garage together, so Ronan could drive them both to his house to meet up with the rest of the Ghostbusters.

“I haven’t seen Noah all day,” Adam mused, as he opened the door to the stairwell. Sometimes Noah didn’t show up until they got to Ronan’s, but often he was hanging around the office by the end of the day. Once, memorably, he appeared in the backseat while they were halfway home, nearly causing Ronan to slam into the bumper in front of them.

“You don’t think…” Adam trailed off. Ronan knew immediately what Adam was trying to ask. Had Noah moved on already, now that the wheels of justice were beginning to turn?

“Nah,” Ronan said confidently. “There’s no way he’d just poof out of existence. Not without saying goodbye. Maybe not even at all.” Adam looked less convinced, but he dropped the subject as they walked to where the Beemer was parked.

Adam exhaled softly as he sank down into the deep, butter-soft leather of the passenger seat.

"I really do love this car."

"Oh yeah?" Ronan asked. He couldn’t help a small smile. He already knew his car was the best, but Adam’s opinion was worth more, given that he was so critical of everything. Ronan always seemed to try a little bit harder, be a little bit bigger, go a little more over the top to try to impress Adam Parrish, the eternally unimpressible.

God, he really, really should have realized the depths of this stupid crush earlier.

"Yeah. Getting weirdly nostalgic for everything now that this won’t be a regular occurrence anymore."

"You think things will just go back to the way they were before?" Ronan asked as he backed smoothly out of the tight parking space. “That easy?”

"No, not exactly. But if we don't have a mission..." Adam shrugged one shoulder in rueful acceptance.

"No way Gansey's letting you go now,” Ronan assured him. “He's adopted you. You’re stuck with him as long as you want to be." He almost said _stuck with **us** _instead of _stuck with **him**_ but he didn’t know if that would sound weird to Adam. Maybe they weren’t at that point yet.

"Adopted?" Adam chuckled.

"Yeah, you know that manic twinkle he gets in his eye. We've all been there, we're all powerless in the face of it. Shit’s hypnotizing. You’ll be invited to every group hang we ever have from now on, and I’ll honestly be impressed if you manage to say no.”

Ronan patted the steering wheel. “You can see the Beemer then, too. Visitation rights or whatever."

They didn’t speak for a little while. Adam seemed to be working up to something, so Ronan let the quiet hang in the air. It was a gentle quiet though, comfortable rather than awkward. Routine.

"Could I drive it, maybe, sometime?" Adam asked at last.

Ronan's breath stuttered. In an instant, all of those damn fantasies from that day Adam played mechanic in Ronan’s garage came flooding back to him. He felt a flush swell from his chest up to his cheeks.

"You know how to handle it?"

As soon as he said the words, he cringed inwardly. _Christ_ , did he really need to phrase it like that? Why didn’t he just say _are you familiar with manual cars?_ Or else _have you ever driven a stick?_ Well, actually that one wasn’t great either. Cheesy double entendres were all well and good when he actually planned them, but when they just skittered out of his mouth, unbidden…ugh. He was a disaster.

Adam, clever as he was, picked up immediately on the bad-porn-worthy dialogue. He sent Ronan a knowing smirk.

"Sure do," he drawled.

Ronan’s heart gave an almighty thump against his breastbone. Fuck.

__________

Gansey was already in the kitchen when they got home.

“The fuck?” Ronan asked. “Did I miss the day in class when everyone learned how to pick locks?”

“Probably,” Gansey said pointedly. He’d never stop being disappointed in teenage Ronan’s truancy. “You missed nearly everything else. But Opal let me in today.”

He had evidently been killing time by handwashing a load of glasses in the sink. Probably unnecessary for the amount of people that were going to be over, but Gansey was an active worrier—having activities for his hands took his mind off distasteful thoughts. There was a sizeable stack of glasses crowding the drying rack. Ronan wondered what was preoccupying him.

“No sign of Noah yet?” he asked.

He and Adam both shook their heads. Adam grabbed a nearby dishtowel to begin drying the glasses that Gansey placed in the rack.

“You guys are, like, the ghost experts, right? D’you think the reason he was tied to me was because I found his body? Or because he somehow knew that if he stuck around, we’d be able to help him?” Adam asked thoughtfully.

“Maybe it was your weird ghost energy transfer power,” Ronan suggested. He just couldn’t let it go. He was still a little unnerved that Adam wasn’t nearly as intrigued by this puzzle as Ronan was, but he reminded himself not to take Adam’s surface reactions (or lack thereof) at face value. There was no telling what he really thought about his own power.

“Other ghosts aren’t magnetized to me, though.”

“You sure?” Ronan asked, as right on cue Opal began to tug on Adam’s arm, trying to get his attention away from the dishes so she could show him some new discovery.

Adam smiled at her, a brilliant sight, and said, “This is different.”

Ronan wasn’t so sure. Ghost energy was just leftover human energy, and he couldn’t imagine anyone not being eventually attracted to Adam’s magnetism. He shone so brightly at his core, once you dug down to it. Maybe ghosts were just able see more easily through the bullshit that humans built up.

Gansey and Ronan continued preparations for the evening, ordering pizza and digging out bottles and cans from fridges and cabinets, while Adam helped Opal take apart an ancient laptop to investigate the inside parts.

Suddenly, a gleeful shout came from upstairs. Noah rushed down the steps, grinning happily. “I can go other places! It worked!”

“It did?! You’re free?” Gansey said excitedly.

“How do you feel? Different?” Ronan asked.

“Yeah. Lighter, I guess. It’s hard to explain.”

“Cool, so problem solved?”

Noah shrugged. “Seems like.”

“So, what are you going to do now? Disney World?”

“Think I’m gonna branch out closer to home, first. I’m learning to follow energy patterns that aren’t Adam’s.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I found where that Whelk guy lives. We’ve been…getting reacquainted today.” He grinned evilly. Or as evilly as Noah could grin. Which was not very.

They all laughed.

“Good for you, man,” Adam called, walking over to them. “Fuck him up. He deserves it.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want,” Ronan offered. “I’ve got plenty of space.”

Noah smiled and held out his fist to bump. “Thanks, dude.”

Ronan knew from experience that sometimes it took a while for people to decide whether they wanted to…move on, to wherever, even if they were able to. He was happy that Noah’s burden had lightened and was even happier to have him stick around until he figured it out.

Before too long, Blue and Cheng showed up together, giggling to themselves. Ronan hadn’t even realized they were friends, let alone close enough to have inside jokes or hang out alone. He was suddenly concerned about the havoc the two of them could wreak when paired together. His house could handle ghosts and animals and even ghost animals, but the combined powers of Henry Cheng and Blue Sargent, fueled by alcohol, might just be its downfall.

They started out tame enough with a game of quarters, roping Gansey and Noah into the fun. Cheng was the only decent player but still managed to drink the most, since Noah, being a ghost and unable to drink, kept pouring his shots into Cheng’s glass. It wasn’t until the third time this happened that he cottoned on to the fact that his glass was (by his account) magically refilling itself.

“Lynch, you realize your house is totally creepy?”

“I do, yes,” Ronan bared his teeth at Cheng. Chainsaw fluttered her wings ominously on the counter next to them.

He left the game and wandered out of the kitchen to find out where Adam and Opal had gone. He found them in the front sitting room armed with glue guns, meticulously piecing together the computer they had taken apart into new shapes. Towering, twisting pieces of metal and circuit-board artwork now covered the low table. The scene unhinged something inside him. He felt bizarrely like crying. He cleared his throat.

“You guys need anything?” Both of them shook their heads, intent on their project. He felt that tug in his chest again. “O, don’t monopolize Parrish all night. He needs to have fun too.”

She glared up at him. “He is having fun!”

Adam smiled at her, then turned it on Ronan, smug. “You heard her. I am having fun.”

Ronan threw up his hands in mock defeat.

“Fine, I’ll leave you to it.”

But he didn’t, quite. It took him another few minutes and an inhuman amount of willpower to turn away. Instead of returning to the party, he walked slowly up the stairs, eventually landing in the spare room that Matthew used when he stayed over. He sat on the bed for a long time, lost in thought.

When he finally got back to the kitchen, he found Gansey and Blue kissing furiously by the counter with Cheng nowhere in sight. He coughed loudly. They sprung apart.

“Did one of you eat Cheng?”

“Huh?” Gansey asked distractedly. He looked like someone had hit him over the head with a skillet. He glanced around vaguely, then said, “Oh! Oh, no, he went to the bathroom, I think. We were just—”

“Yeah, don’t finish that sentence. I really would love to _not_ hear how you describe what you were just doing,” Ronan said, wrinkling his nose.

Blue rolled her eyes. “So juvenile.”

“I’m not juvenile,” Ronan protested. “I’m just rightly concerned you might have given Gansey girl cooties with your girl lips. Girls are gross like that.”

She gave him the finger, grinning.

“Go find a boy to kiss, then,” she suggested.

Ronan looked flatly at her. He knew what she was insinuating, and it was not worth the dignity of a response. She really was a good match for Gansey. They were both nosy, interfering busybodies. She shrugged innocently.

“For what it’s worth, he’d kiss you back.”

Ronan tried not to engage. Tried to scoff, to brush away the thought. He even considered playing it off like he didn’t know who Blue meant. Instead, when he opened his mouth, what came out was…

“How do you know?” Fuck. Pathetic.

“I’m psychic,” she grinned mischievously.

“Fuck off, you’re not.”

“Fine. I’m observant. That’s halfway to being clairvoyant anyways.”

“Fuck off,” he said again as he grabbed another beer from the fridge.

“Stop cursing at my girlfriend,” Gansey admonished mildly.

“I—wait, _girlfriend_?” Blue turned toward him, distracted by this new revelation. “I’m sorry, did I black out and miss when we had this conversation?”

Ronan considered making a swift exit now that Blue’s piercing gaze was off him. On the other hand, this was some prime drama. Seeing Gansey’s composure taken apart was always fun. He grabbed a handful of chips and leaned against the island to watch.

Behind him, he noticed that Adam had slipped out of Opal’s grasp and was heading toward the door to the backyard. He prayed that the earlier part of their conversation hadn’t been loud enough to overhear.

“I didn’t mean to—I only meant that—” Gansey stumbled, then paused. His mind was clearly furiously searching for the correct vocabulary, rearranging the order of his words, looking for the perfect way to phrase his feelings so that he would be understood.

Blue’s expression softened. This, more than anything else yet, reassured Ronan that she was good enough for Gansey. Ronan knew how hard Gansey tried to find the right words, how much work he put into appearing effortless, how anxious he was when he thought he might have been misunderstood. The increasing fondness on Blue’s face showed that she saw this unpolished underside to Gansey’s Perfect Ganseyness for what it was. They’d be fine, Ronan suddenly decided.

“I’m sorry,” Gansey finally landed on the simple apology.

“Gansey, you are gonna wait until we make decisions together, okay? Stop hanging labels around my neck that I haven’t agreed to. We’ll discuss this later.” She gave him a soft peck on the lips. “It’s sweet of you to want it, though.”

She turned back to Ronan. Shit, he should have escaped when he had the chance.

“Now, back to you. Want to know how I know? He flirts with you _all the time_ , dummy.”

“He _fights_ with me all the time.”

She shrugged. “Same diff.”

Ronan snorted, unconvinced.

“I’m serious! That man has iron-clad self-control. You think if he weren’t a willing participant in this childish playground rivalry you two have going, he’d have any problem just, like, stopping? Not taking the bait? You’re annoying, Lynch, but you’re not that bad. Trust me, he’s into it.”

Ronan changed tactics. “How do you know _I_ even want to?”

Blue cackled. “That’s a good one!”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said for the third time and opened the door to escape to the patio.

Adam was there, as Ronan had suspected. He looked up from his seat as Ronan slid open the door and walked out into the approaching dusk. His face relaxed into something almost happy, an unusual look on him. At least it was unusual in that it was directed at Ronan this time. Definitely not bad unusual, though.

"Think that's the first time you've smiled as I walked into a room, Parrish." He offered Adam the beer in his hand, which Adam declined.

"Probably the THC. And we’re out of a room, not in one. So."

"Are you high right now?" he asked in some surprise. “Did Sargent give that to you? Darn hippies, corrupting the youth.”

“Hey. I’ll have you know this is mine. And I was going to share, but now I’m not so sure.”

Ronan cracked the can in his hand and sipped thoughtfully.

"Damn. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Literally, now." Adam pointed at him. Ronan laughed as he sat down onto the vacant deck chair.

"You know, you really don't know me,” Adam continued. “You think you do, but you don't. You know?" he trailed off slightly nonsensically. The words leaving his mouth weren't slurred, but they weren’t his normal brand of precision, either. The point still came across well enough to Ronan.

"Yeah," he replied softly. He suddenly felt like he needed to apologize. For a lot of things. Maybe Declan was right that he really did need to grow up.

"You sound like my brother,” he started. “Remarkably so, sometimes. Not like—you don't literally sound like him. But the things you say, the way you say them to me...I don't know.”

He ran a hand over his scalp. This probably wasn’t very enlightening to Adam, who had never met Declan. He tried again.

“My whole life he’s been on my case to be more responsible, grow up, be an adult. Even when we were kids. He and Dad never got along. Too different, I think. And then I sort of reacted to Dad’s death by trying to be exactly like him.”

He took another sip of his beer. “So, I’m sorry, I guess. You might, very occasionally, hit a sensitive nerve and I just react like you're Declan. It’s some fucked up automatic response. You know how brothers are, we always rile each other up. And we can take it from each other. But I know that’s never been fair to do to someone I don’t actually know that well. You know I'm not serious most of the time, right?"

"I had figured that out, yeah. I'm not a moron." Adam remarked dryly.

"Obviously, nerd. I sometimes think you think I am, though."

"Yeah well, turning in a design for an underwater bird feeder that one time didn't help your case."

Ronan chuckled. They were quiet again. Adam passed him the joint. He took a brief hit and gave it back.

“Things have seemed a little better, though, lately. Between us, I mean.” Ronan wasn’t sure if this was really true, or whether he just wanted it to be true.

“You mean you haven’t been quite so cruel?”

That actually hurt. Ronan never felt like he was being cruel. He certainly never tried to be. Maybe he had been, though. Another thing he probably had to apologize for.

On the other hand, Adam could be just as cutting. And he probably did know. Ronan now understood that it was some long-standing defense mechanism. The barbed wire topping his quiet, straight exterior. And Adam Parrish, whatever else he might be, was an excellent engineer. He had done well to ensure his walls were impenetrable. All of a sudden, Ronan decided to lay siege.

“So, I don’t mean to start another fight, but do you really like pretending to be Average Joe? Forget the fact that seeing ghosts makes your nice orderly life more complicated, for a second. Just think about the fact that you can do it. Do you actually like it?”

Adam thought for a moment.

“Yeah, I do. I guess. At least, I like having a power that’s just my own. Like, the lightbulb trick that Opal and I can do is pretty cool.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get! Sure, at first maybe I got on your case a little because I actually thought you were dull. That was a dick thing to do. But I am kind of a dick.”

Adam smiled wryly, knowingly.

“I guess I don’t need to tell you that. But lately, it’s this. I can tell the real you is buried under there somewhere. You’re unique, and, and fucking— _literally_ _magical_ , and you just cover yourself in this boring shell. I thought maybe if I poked at your layers enough, they’d fall off.”

Adam’s smile turned predatory.

“…That was not meant to sound as suggestive as it came out.” Ronan rushed to clarify. His cheeks burned. He prayed it was too dark out to be visible. Adam laughed outright.

“Oh, don’t back down now. Tell me how you really feel.” Adam’s tone was far too flirty to be serious, his smirk far too lecherous, his eyes far too smoldering. Ronan suddenly and deeply regretted all the times he had teased the other man. This was so much to take, even in jest.

Uncharacteristically, Ronan was the one to steer the conversation back in a serious direction. Tonight, for whatever reason, he wasn’t in the mood. He was pretty sure they were friends now. And even though Adam was comfortable joking with him, a fact that caused a faint little spark to start glowing somewhere near his heart, the other man was still so unwilling to open up about anything even remotely approaching the personal. And in that moment, Ronan realized that it bothered him. A lot.

“Why won’t you tell me what actually happened?” he asked abruptly.

Adam was silent. Ronan didn’t think it was because he didn’t understand.

He pushed, frustrated. “Do you not trust me? With everything over the last few weeks, I thought we might be past that, now.”

He felt a little bad about pressing the issue when Adam was possibly less-than-sober. But he didn’t feel bad enough to drop it.

Finally, Adam answered in a quiet voice. “I trust you. But I’m scared.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ve never told anyone. I don’t know what you’ll think of me. I mean—I don’t think you’ll, like, turn me into the cops or whatever. I just—” he cut himself off.

He was silent for another stretch. Ronan decided to wait him out. It didn’t take too long for Adam to come to a decision.

He took a deep breath and began hesitantly, “My dad was—pretty rough, growing up. You joke that your dad’s an asshole but mine _actually_ was. He drank a lot, and…well, you can probably imagine. Usual sob story of a kid in a trailer park with unemployed broke parents, you know? It wasn’t always too bad. But—sometimes it was. Bad.”

Ronan stilled. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. The ember that had started glowing earlier roared into white hot rage. How _dare_ _anyone_ —he couldn’t even finish the thought. His fists were clenching, nails digging into his palms.

Adam continued, as if he didn’t notice that Ronan was melting down from the inside.

“I was friends, sort of, with that ghost in our neighborhood I mentioned before. Boyd. He had died after falling into a cave nearby, it was actually kind of a horrible tragic story. But he became almost like an older brother, or uncle, someone to talk to. I didn’t have anyone like that otherwise. He felt a little like a protector. Someone who had my back, even if he was basically imaginary to everyone else. It was stupid, but I came to rely on him.

One night, when my dad was in one of his really bad moods, I called out to Boyd. I didn’t really know what I was asking—I don’t think I even spoke out loud. And I definitely didn’t realize what was going to happen. But all of a sudden, I was filled with something else—this feeling that I wasn’t really in control of my body anymore. I felt stronger, but it wasn’t just strength. It was like this ball of lightning inside, this all-consuming heat rushing through me. Somehow I pushed my dad off, but I didn’t know my own strength, and I think he must have—fallen. Hit his head. After that, Boyd’s power or spirit or whatever it was, left me, and I passed out. I guess I was pretty banged up too. When I came to, I was in the ER and Boyd was gone and my dad was dead.”

“Jesus Christ, Adam.”

“That’s not the half of it. He came back.”

“Your protector ghost? Boyd?”

“No. I never saw him again. I think it was because of what I did. I mean my dad. Came back.”

“ _Holy shit_.”

“Pretty shitty, being haunted by the vindictive spirit of your shithead dad that you accidentally murdered, yeah.”

“Fucking hell. What did you do?”

“At first I thought I’d just have to live with it. I didn’t really know what else to do. But it just kept getting worse. Ever seen Final Destination? Yeah, kinda like that. After a couple of…near misses, I did some research at the public library and then I took care of the problem,” he shrugged. “By then, I knew I just had to do it myself. No one else was going to help me. No one else was left.”

“You took care—?”

“I destroyed it. His spirit.” Ronan’s eyes widened. “Right there in the carport of the trailer park. I could have just exorcised him, maybe. Or banished him into hell or the next life or whatever. But I chose to eliminate the spirit altogether. There’s not a single molecule left of my father, anywhere, in any universe. I’m probably the only person in history who’s committed double patricide.”

“ _Christ_ , Adam. I had no idea.”

“That’s kind of the point. I didn’t want anyone to know. I still don’t. I hate remembering it. All the shit he did, sure, but also…I dunno, I worry that what I did was monstrous, too. It’s all fucked up. I’d love to just pretend none of it ever happened.”

“Yeah, but. Still. Doesn’t sound like you had much of a choice.”

“I did. I made a choice and I live with it. You know, you always scoff at _normal_. You say it’s dull, and maybe you’re not wrong. But I’ve worked really hard to get to a point in my life where I can actually _feel_ normal. I’d take boring over going back to that shit any day of the week.”

The rage had hollowed Ronan out and now there was a huge gnawing, jagged hole where his insides used to be. He felt like he might throw up.

He was the worst kind of person. His hideous callousness, his utter and absolute thoughtless cruelty directed at Adam for months, poking and prodding at wounds he had no business uncovering.

Laughing at Adam when he jumped at unexpected apparitions. The casual cracks about poverty. The constant needling at him to just lighten up, just look around and be fucking _grateful_ that the world was so magical, that getting to interact with ghosts was so _fun_ and _interesting_ and _exciting_.

Who the _fuck_ was he to assume he knew anything about anyone else’s life? To tell someone else how to live, or what to value? He might have had tragedy in his past, but he had always taken his own safety for granted. Never even had cause to question the love of his family, or the protection and support of his friends. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of person he would have become if he had been alone, left to his own devices after his parents died. From a normal, everyday accident. His loving, supportive, joyful parents.

He felt wretched.

He had no idea what to say.

“Fuck.”

“Yup.”

“I’m s—”

“If you say you’re sorry, I will take that beer and pour it over your head.”

“—starving,” Ronan finished lamely.

“Nice save.”

Adam was making it pretty obvious that he didn’t want to discuss his father anymore. Ronan decided not to push. He had already done a lifetime’s worth of pushing at Adam. He changed tacks to a slightly safer point of conversation.

“So you were thinking that ritual with the Boundary Shadow would be like what Boyd did to you, then. What about the whole favor thing? Do you think that itself was a favor, in that quid pro quo sense that Sargent was talking about?”

“I dunno. I mean, I never really did Boyd a favor. And not to say that I trust everything a nine year old girl says, but Opal made it sound like the power I have was already there. Like that ‘wire’ thing itself was the reason that the possession was even possible. And honestly, it was pretty terrifying. So I’d hardly call what he did a favor,” Adam finished dryly.

Ronan just looked at him. “How bad was the beating?”

Adam sighed. “Two broken ribs, broken arm, busted nose, and a concussion. And I’m deaf in my left ear.”

Ronan heard a roaring in his own ears. He wanted to destroy something. He desperately pushed down the impulse. Of all the times to not show anger, this was probably number one on the list. He knew, all at once, that Adam had made the right choice in completely destroying his fuckhead shitty worthless father’s evil soul. He was certain of it in a deep, unshakable way that he had never been certain about any other thing in his life.

But Adam was also not looking for sympathy. He very clearly resented having to tell Ronan even this. As much as Ronan burned in rage, as much as he suddenly, desperately yearned to be a comfort, to be a protector, a friend to rely on, he knew that Adam absolutely, definitely, did not want to hear that now, at a moment when he was torn open and vulnerable. Especially from someone who was barely even a friend.

He’d probably never forgive Ronan if he began to treat him any differently. The most comforting thing Ronan could give now was stoicism. Or maybe a touch of sarcasm.

“I’d say stopping you from being killed is a pretty big favor.”

Adam snorted softly. “Didn’t get me anything else. I mean, one of the guys on that list of Piper’s won the lottery. Still not convinced mine was worth it.”

“Oh, fuck off, you love your boring life.”

“Yeah. I do.” Adam smiled tentatively at Ronan.

Okay. He had handled that okay. But _fuck_. What a mess. He sighed, and rubbed his scalp vigorously, then took a long draw from his beer can. He still didn’t know what to say.

“Ronan,” Adam said softly. “I’m okay now, you know. This is new information to you, but I’ve been living with it for a long time.”

“You don’t need to live with everything all on your own, though. Not that—even if it’s not me. People are made to support each other.”

Adam made a noncommittal _hmm_ sound. After what he had just learned, Ronan couldn’t blame Adam for not being convinced. He tried again.

“I’m not good at it either.”

“What, getting along with people? _You_?”

“Shut up. I mean letting people in. You were right, the other night. My coping mechanisms aren’t exactly the healthiest either. Turns out, deflection is just as effective as suppression for making people think you’re fine and you don’t give a shit.”

“Wow,” Adam said. “Can I have Declan’s number?”

“I’m…sorry, what? No. _Why_?” This was a concerning ask.

“I just want to tell him how much progress you’re making. You actually sounded like an adult, just then.”

“God, fuck all the way off. I thought you were trying to hit on my douchebag brother through me.”

Adam smirked. “Not a bad idea. Only if he’s the hot brother, though.”

“I’m not hot enough for you? That’s cold, Parrish.” Hmm. His _jokes_ were starting to veer a little too far into truth territory again. Gotta pull it back before he embarrassed himself.

Adam laughed, a small sound, and looked out into the darkened backyard. He took another draw from the joint in his hand, and then remarked, “You are, actually.”

Ronan turned to Adam, mouth opened in surprise to say something—probably to confess something that would be very unwise to confess, especially after such a heavy conversation—when right on cue, Blue stuck her head out the door.

“Hey dicks, stop being antisocial. Come do victory jello shots with us!”

Ronan looked at her, then back at Adam, and saw his own horror mirrored on the other man’s face.

_“Jello shots?”_ Adam mouthed in disbelief.

“That’s a Henry Cheng special,” Ronan replied. “God, that man has not changed one bit since high school.”

He turned his head to bellow through the still open door, “Fuck off, Cheng, I’m not a child! I’m not eating jello to get drunk!”

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school, Lynch!” A voice floated out in return.

Adam cackled. “Looks like I’m the only one who’s actually done any growing in the last decade.”

At that, Blue grabbed them each by an arm and dragged them both into the house with her. “We’re all regressing tonight. Deal with it.”

And they did, because they had solved the mystery and punished the bad guys, and because they were the Ghostbusters, and they were victorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adam “plant boy” parrish grows his own weed, natch. he’s got a whole herb garden in one of his windowsills. and there’s a big cage around the window so the cat won’t eat the plants and die because he is a responsible pet owner.
> 
> **up next:** so that’s it, problem solved, right? it’s all rainbows and butterflies from here, right!?
> 
> JUST KIDDING. oh no, you thought the gang foiled all the evil plots and were gonna live happily ever after? damn, so did they. but really, what did they expect was gonna happen in the last five chapters of this story?


	16. Leaning In Can Only Get You So Far

Adam didn’t wake until well past noon on Saturday, when the high sun fell through the window to cast shadowed ribbons onto his face. He stretched languidly then burrowed back under his mountain of soft bedding, sighing in sleepy contentment. He had a sneaking suspicion that any major movement was about to be greeted by a headache, thanks to the previous night’s festivities. But he had nowhere to go, so there was no real rush to move at all.

Although, shockingly, it didn’t exactly feel like he was facing the onset of the worst hangover he’d ever had. Probably something to do with Blue forcing cups of water on them with every drink they refilled. That girl was so sensible.

Sleep didn’t seem to want to return, so instead he blearily started to piece together the night’s events. Things had started out tame enough but had soon devolved into neon-colored jello shots and clear-colored regular shots and somehow, ended with everyone taking turns on a karaoke machine magically produced by Henry. Ronan had taken one look at the thing and absolutely, positively put his foot down, refusing to let him set it up. Two hours later, he was singing louder than anyone else.

A sudden flashbulb memory presented itself: Blue and Ronan performing a drunken and extremely enthusiastic duet to Country Roads, drowning out the ‘ _West Virginia’_ lyric on every chorus by shouting ‘ _IT’S VIRGINIA!!’_ instead. Adam grinned helplessly into his pillow. Okay, so Blue had her non-sensible moments too. But that sort of chaotic behavior was part and parcel for Ronan.

Oh, Ronan.

Ronan Lynch was getting to be a real problem.

In all honesty, he had been a problem for Adam since they met. But this particular Ronan-shaped problem was taking on entirely new forms these days.

The clearest memories he had of the party were of Ronan. Laughing with Gansey. Tugging gently and fondly on Opal’s braids. Challenging Henry to a tequila shooting contest. He lost, badly, but Adam’s mind kept replaying the way he had gathered the salt from between the webbing of his finger and thumb with a slow drag of his tongue before each shot. Adam felt heat rise in him that had nothing to do with the blankets he was cocooned in.

But most of all, Adam couldn’t stop going over their conversation in the backyard. He had wondered, perhaps, whether he would come to regret his candor when he woke up—whether his instincts to cover up or deflect or ignore his past might return with the sun. But in the harsh semi-hungover light of day, he found that he didn’t regret it at all.

Adam was well aware that he had a difficult time letting go of first impressions. As much as he tried to rule his life through logic and fact, when it came to trusting people, he never seemed to truly believe evidence that might be right in front of his face. But he hadn’t lied when he told Ronan that he trusted him. It was incredible, actually, how much had changed in just a few short weeks.

As he lay there, wrapped up like a burrito, alone with only his thoughts for company, he realized that it was probably time to face up to some uncomfortable truths. He hated admitting when he was wrong, even to himself. But he hated _being_ wrong even more. He just had to get over this stupid hang-up to quickly recalibrate his assumptions. He’d feel a little ashamed, maybe, and then his mental map of the world would be corrected, and he’d move on, and feel all the better for it.

So, here it was. His big secret. He had been wrong about Ronan, in nearly every way that a person could be wrong.

The first error was assuming cruelty.

When they first met, Adam was sure that Ronan’s attitude was a product of dislike. His teasing felt too much like some bizarre adult workplace version of schoolyard bullying—the rich kid making fun of the poor kid, snickering behind his back, those pale piercing gazes of his hiding contempt and ridicule. But this was nothing but paranoia. This was Adam’s cynical distrust of the motives of all others rearing its ugly head. Ronan’s jokes never had malicious intent. And now that he had seen the way Ronan treated Gansey, and the way he joked with Opal and made fun of his father and brother, he realized that it wasn’t just harmless, but was actually some form of clumsy affection.

_Affection_. The idea that Ronan treated him with affection sent another fuzzy bolt of warmth through Adam.

The nature of Ronan’s teasing was also—an interesting choice. Like, the guy certainly didn’t flirt with Gansey. Adam was alone in that regard. And once he had identified Ronan’s flirtations as innocuous, he had experimented in pushing back. Results were—pretty positive, he thought. There was a definite change in their dynamic now, where Ronan seemed far less sure of himself around Adam. Now it was Ronan who blushed, who stuttered, who became flustered and undone by Adam's attentions.

Had he ruined the joke? Well, maybe he had for Ronan. Adam was certainly having fun with it now. Each blush, each stumble, each little bit of power that Adam wielded, over someone like _Ronan Lynch_ of all people, was intoxicating.

Which was an enlightening reaction, in itself.

It also brought to mind his next error to be corrected: his own disinterest.

Adam had spent months parroting the same line— _I don’t care what Ronan thinks_. Now he was forced to admit that the main reason Ronan’s pushing and prodding had always bothered him was that he actually _did_ care what Ronan thought. A lot. He disliked the idea that Ronan thought badly of him. He did not like having his own shortfalls pointed out, and he absolutely hated that Ronan was the one to do it. And as irritating as he might be in delivering the message, he was also often…not wrong.

Letting loose was difficult for Adam. Having fun— _relaxing—_ was too tightly linked to letting his guard down, which was, above all else, dangerous. But he had enjoyed nearly a decade of peace. Logically, he knew his father wasn't coming back. He had made sure of that himself. It was time to stop using his past as an excuse to retreat from the world. Thinking of every new experience as a potential threat wasn’t healthy, on his mind or his body. And it certainly hadn’t made him happy.

It had been a long time since he’d thought about happiness.

He had a comfortable life. He enjoyed the sense of relief that stability brought. But relief wasn’t the same thing as happiness.

Was he _happy_?

Well, maybe.

Sometimes.

Honestly, every time he’d been genuinely happy recently was when he had been with Gansey, and Blue, and Henry. And Noah, even. But especially with Ronan.

He was usually only able to let his guard down when he was alone, but he actually felt completely safe in Ronan’s presence. Not like he needed Ronan to protect him, or anything. They just felt well-matched. They had always been well-matched antagonists, but they actually made a good team as partners, too. And more than that, they were getting along. They were friends. Adam actually _liked_ Ronan, and wanted to spend more time with him.

He rooted further into his duvet burrito, now warmed not only by the sun and the blankets but—he admitted, because it was only to himself and his pillow—also by the thought of Ronan’s surprised (hopeful? Even— _hungry_?) expression in the dimming light of the backyard. The way he had looked at Adam. The way he almost—said something. _Did_ something?

Had he been about to kiss Adam?

Would Adam have wanted that?

Obviously, he had thought about it. Ronan Lynch’s brand of hot not only invited but practically required those kinds of thoughts. He was attractive in that sort of way that caused physical pain. And physical…other reactions. Adam couldn’t help himself. He could (embarrassingly easily) call to mind the way Ronan’s eyes often flashed with something other than anger when they argued over some design problem. Those searing looks had fueled many a solo night-time activity for Adam. But his fantasies had always been academic, in a way. Theoretical. Did he really, _actually_ want to kiss Ronan, with all that would entail? All the complexities that would bring to his life?

He brought himself back to the dark, muggy evening once more, the two of them alone out on the patio. He imagined Ronan in the setting sunlight, leaning down toward him with purpose. He took the daydream further, to the moment when Ronan’s lips would part his own, his hands would grasp at his hips, that voice that had haunted his dreams since that fucking pool party would maybe groan his name—hot lust flooded his stomach at the vision. Well, okay then. His mind might be a liar but his body sure wasn’t.

He could no longer ignore the fact that there was… _something_ there. But it was now something that felt bigger than friendship, and deeper than lust. And something that was possibly not one-sided.

As cozy as he had been in his cocoon only a moment ago, the bed suddenly felt empty. Blankets were a poor substitute for solid arms, for a warm embrace. Adam wondered if you could miss the touch of someone you'd never actually felt. He was struck, all at once, by the simple truth. The clarity rang through him like a bell. _I am attracted to Ronan Lynch_. Not just physically—that had been obvious for months. No, Adam wanted _him_ , all of him, personality and all.

God, had he really been so dumb for so long?

This new world order where Adam Parrish had an honest-to-god actual crush on Ronan Lynch was too much to take lying down. A complete shifting of his own understanding of himself required some greater form of movement. He slowly sat up to take stock of his body. Not too much pain or disorientation. At least, not from the hangover. He looked down at his cat, busy kneading at his calf under the duvet.

“What do you think, Mox? Have I been a colossal idiot?”

She gave a small _mrow_ in agreement.

Okay, so he was truly, actually, _into_ Ronan.

This was fine.

It didn’t feel fine, though.

It felt—huge. He didn’t know what to do with it.

By Sunday morning, Adam’s thoughts were so jumbled and his body so restless that he decided he needed to work off some energy. He had been avoiding Rock Creek since finding Noah’s body, but he thought a little exposure therapy might help. Getting to know Noah in person, and knowing that he had helped the man, had lessened the horror of that disastrous run a little bit too.

He vowed then to make a conscious effort to move on. His behavior could not endlessly be ruled by things in his past. It wouldn’t be as easy as snapping his fingers and becoming a whole, unbroken person—of course it wouldn’t. Nothing in life was as easy as that. He’d have to continue making deliberate decision after decision to confront each one of his demons.

But eventually it would get easier, right? It must.

Or maybe it wouldn’t.

But he could try. And he could start trying today, by reclaiming his woods.

The heat sucked, and the run sucked more, but the woods themselves were lush as ever and free of dead bodies, so he did feel better. He stopped for coffee and a bowl of ful on the way back and walked home refreshed and content.

No, not just content. A little bit happy, actually.

His world view had been recalibrated—in a surprising direction, maybe, but now that he knew the truth, he was pretty sure he could handle whatever came next.

__________

__________

Four miles away, Piper Greenmantle prowled her study like a caged panther, pacing and seething. At least, that's what she assumed she looked like. If she had a tail, it would definitely be swishing in elegant and dangerous agitation. She did not have a tail, so she had to make do with whipping her head just so with every turn so her high ponytail followed in a neat arc.

Her husband was not there to appreciate this display. Colin, useless and pathetic lump that he was, had vanished in his stupid glittery sports car the day before and hadn’t shown his face since. He was probably pathetically drinking away his problems in some rail liquor-soaked hole in the wall with his more unsavory acquaintances. Or else he was already on the run. Without her. Either was equally likely. He claimed to love her, but she knew he loved himself far more.

Well, that was true of both of them, really. She definitely loved herself more than her incompetent husband at that moment. At least _she_ actually knew how to handle adversity. She definitely wouldn’t put it past Colin to just cut his losses and disappear rather than stick around to do the hard work of _fixing this goddamn fucking mess_.

It was always up to her, in the end. She was always cleaning up the messes of less competent men.

She was livid at everyone.

At the board, for unceremoniously dismissing her. How dare they? After all she had done, all she’d sacrificed to get the company to where it was. After all she’d done for _them_ , not just for herself! Her career was always the bottom line, but the best way to advance herself was to make the company the biggest and best and most prestigious and profitable it could be. That way, everyone would win. Except her, now, apparently.

At Calla, the COO that had been promoted to CEO in her place. How dare she _accept_ it? After all the effort Piper had gone through to teach her, train her, support her. She was just going to All About Eve herself into Piper’s place without so much as a _thank you_? Not even a card? A phone call? A fucking _fruit_ basket? Back-stabbing bitch.

At every single one of her employees, who had clearly just stood back and watched as she was rudely tossed out on her ass. No one to stick up for her. No one to lobby for her case, to tell everyone in charge how much work she had put in to propel Cabeswater into success.

She had sacrificed for _years_ to get to this point. And for what? After all that, it was someone else’s turn to reap the spoils.

Well, fuck them. She was done playing nice, done working her ass off for no recognition, done _sacrificing_. Someone else could be the one to sacrifice now.

She huffed prettily and chucked a glass paperweight at the oak-paneled wall. It shattered in an extremely satisfying fashion, which made her feel slightly better.

The only other thing that could possibly make her feel better was that there was still a glimmer of hope. One way to turn this all around. Not just to survive, but to come out on top.

If she could still get the Shadow’s favor, she might be able to reverse this all and get back to her normal life. Or if not—who cares? She’d be far better off. She’d be a queen. And then she’d be able to mete out the justice that everyone so rightly deserved.

Honestly, she was pissed about that whole thing too, though. Nothing felt _ready_. She should have had more time to prepare. She thought she’d have months yet, to research, to plan her exact approach, to make sure that everything was air-tight. Or water-tight. Tight for all weather eventualities.

Now she was out on her ass and they hadn’t even broken ground on the site yet. She needed to think. She needed a new plan. It was lucky that she had gotten all those leftover materials from the last construction site. She might still be able to wriggle her way into a temporary fix. Just enough time to get in and do the ritual and get out.

She had wanted to go to at least two, maybe three different psychics or witchy-types for advice and instructions on the ritual. She’d be able to compare notes, then, to see what themes were common to all, to hone in on what the exact correct steps of the thing could be. Mistakes in this realm could be disastrous.

As it stood, she had only been to one woman, and this woman had been—extremely suspect. _Niamh_. What kind of a name was that, anyways? She had talked in a breathy, dreamy sort of voice, which Piper was certain was a deliberate affectation. They all had their roles to play, sure, but she preferred her employees without frills or nonsense. She just wanted what she wanted, was that honestly too goddamn much to expect? Niamh’s directions had been helpful, potentially, but still far too vague for Piper’s liking.

So. The ritual was still a worrying question mark. She’d just have to go with her gut and hope that it didn’t result in her being dragged to hell, or some other horrifying prospect.

Although. She was unemployed and unemployable, reputation ruined, possibly going to jail, definitely getting assets seized. If this wasn’t hell already, what was? She had nothing at all to lose.

There was one person, above all others, that Piper was saving most of her rage for. The person who had caused the entire fiasco in the first place. The person who had gotten her fired.

She was pretty sure she knew who it was.

She thought, at first, that the tip could have come from another design company. She herself would have been reasonably angry if someone else had gotten the bid instead of Cabeswater. Maybe even angry enough to investigate them for wrongdoing. But honestly, the heads of their rival companies had no imagination, so she was doubtful. Just because she was dedicated (and ruthless) enough to go above and beyond in that way didn’t mean that others would have thought of it. That was how she had risen so far, so quickly in the first place.

Once she ruled out that possibility, she knew that it had to have been someone on the team—otherwise, who would have cared enough about the land? Someone who worked at the Wendy’s? _Please_.

So it was someone who worked for her. This someone had broken into her house to steal her hard-won information. This someone wasn’t professional enough to clean up the mess they made of her figurines. But this someone was clever enough to be able to break in in the first place. To evade the alarms, pick the locks, and disable the cameras. This someone was ruthless and competent with a wide array of mechanical and technological knowledge.

That narrowed it down to one person in particular. Her team wasn’t large, and she hated inefficiency, so she didn’t hire redundant skillsets. She didn’t have proof, exactly, but she had a strong hunch. And her hunches were usually correct.

So. One person, above all, she was _most_ enraged at. The betrayal was all the worse because she thought he might have been a kindred spirit. He had seemed like a practical, no-nonsense go-getter. Young, but extremely bright. Dedicated to his work, and a true asset to the company. Clearly liked fine things in life but was unimpressed by frills and frippery if they lacked substance. Just like her.

She thought she had a nose for people’s moral compasses. She thought that his had been more aligned with hers. That he’d understand the necessity of making certain sacrifices, in order to get what you wanted out of life.

She had clearly been utterly, disastrously wrong.

How dare he?

How _dare_ he?

She took a deep, calming breath, just like her personal yoga instructor had taught her. Tongue to the bottom of her mouth, teeth parted, lips closed. Breathe through her nose, let it fill her entire body. In for ten seconds. Out for ten seconds.

How might she turn this into lemonade?

Well, if nothing else, she still needed a body.

She took another calming breath, and she packed up all of her rage and her spite and her determination into a single polished finger, and she pressed send on a waiting email.

__________

__________

When Adam got home from his run, he showered off the film of sweat that had never quite dried thanks to the August humidity and collapsed onto his couch, feet hanging over the armrest. Moxie immediately took up residence on his chest. He wondered vaguely if it would be a good idea to text Ronan. What would he even say, though?

_Hey, sorry for all the mean things I ever said to you, wanna bang?_

He laughed, trying to imagine how Ronan would react to getting a message like that.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up with a notification. It couldn’t actually be—right? That would be too much of a coincidence.

He sat up—eliciting an undignified meow in protest—and swiped at his phone. It was an email, actually, not a text. And it was definitely not from Ronan.

**From: pgreenmantle@cwater.com**

**Subject: I know it was you.**

His eyes widened.

_Oh, shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter ended up really different to what I had planned but idk these characters insisted on performing some soliloquys and who am I to refuse their feelings?
> 
> a little behind the scenes peek: this story was originally going to have more pov chapters, like the books, and then I realized there wasn’t enough time/content to do justice to gansey or blue. but I couldn’t resist keeping a little villain monologue because I love piper and think her third wave feminist narcissistic girlboss attitude is genuinely hilarious.
> 
> **up next:** adam parrish goes full adam parrish™


	17. The Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for a bit of blood and violence. nothing too graphic, it’s just an action chapter, yanno

Adam’s insides were in free-fall as he blinked at the single line in his inbox. She was still planning to do the ritual.

Of course she was.

 _Of course_ they hadn’t stopped her by getting her fired. They had probably only made it worse. It was so obvious in retrospect.

He should have guessed—should have fought the others harder on their plan—shouldn’t have been _so stupid_ as to just go along with what other people decided was best for him. He had always known, deep down, that it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing in life was.

How many times did he need to learn this lesson? If he wanted a thing done properly, he could only rely on himself to get it done.

And now that they had ruined her life, she had nothing to lose. Including time. She was going to do it soon. And she was angry at them. At _him_. If he didn’t stop her before she succeeded, she could very well be unstoppable after. He had to get over there.

If he hurried, maybe he could still get to the Shadow first.

He jumped up and looked around his small apartment in a panic. What do these things usually need? Some blood—he had a Swiss army knife in his pocket. He didn’t know what he’d use as a sacrificial offering, but maybe there would be a rat in the building, or something. Some Latin—he grabbed his mini vocabulary book and shoved it in a back pocket. He couldn’t think of anything else. He’d just have to wing it. Maybe he could do enough to set up some sort of communication with the bound spirit, to ask what she needed to be freed. He took one last glance around, snatched up his keys and his SmarTrip, and bolted out the door.

It was a Sunday, so of course Metro was a nightmare—single tracking, clueless tourists, and trains only running every twenty minutes. Not to mention he had to change lines to get to the site, which meant another twenty minutes of inaction. He paced the platform with enough energy to burn a hole straight through the ugly orange hexagons, fuming at himself. Why the hell hadn’t he just called a rideshare? If there was ever a time to trade money for time and convenience, this would have been it. He just wasn’t thinking straight. He needed to calm down and screw his head back on, or this was all bound to go terribly, terribly wrong. Mixing magic and panic never turned out well.

When he finally reached the intersection, Adam immediately spotted a problem—the entire place had become a construction site. His stomach sank with every passing second. Was he too late?

He went to take a closer look. The building was surrounded in concrete and chain-link barriers, but they were the easily removable kind of temporary barriers. They did a decent job of hiding much of the building from the surrounding traffic on all sides, and the empty parking lot indicated that they had obviously kept customers away, but they wouldn’t stop Adam from getting in. He clambered over one of the waist-height concrete dividers and moved toward the building itself. Caution tape was set up around all the entrances, just in case anyone (read: him) hadn’t gotten the hint yet, but the building itself still looked untouched. This couldn’t be a real setup, he realized. They hadn’t even finished their redesign yet, let alone gotten it approved. The actual construction step was months away.

Which could only mean that Piper was already here. Maybe he _was_ too late.

As he grasped the handle of the main door, a clear, simple question cut through his panic for the first time that afternoon— _why had Piper emailed him?_

If she was getting ready to do the ritual, why had she tipped him off? Surely she wouldn’t want anyone to try to stop her. Did that mean she had already done it? Was she simply letting him know that she was about to take her revenge, with whatever favor she might have gotten from the spirit? Was this just some taunting game of hers, now so powerful that she didn’t have to fear discovery?

He recalled that strange sense of foreboding that he had felt when he first came to this Wendy’s with Ronan, what now seemed like a lifetime ago. That unmoored feeling of dread that had invaded the space was dialed up to about a thousand. He was now pretty certain that he was walking into some sort of trap. But he didn’t know what other option he had. He took a deep breath through his nose and tried the door.

Despite the layer of caution tape, it was unlocked. His unease increased. He grabbed the Swiss army knife from his pocket and flicked it open—a pitiful weapon, but the only one he had. Even if he had thought to bring a bigger arsenal, he didn’t exactly have anything dangerous laying around his apartment. He slowly advanced through the restaurant, the artificially bright lights casting everything in an oversaturated haze of unreality. No one was behind the counter. The eerie emptiness of the place pressed in on his ears like an abrupt change in altitude, like he had hurtled suddenly downward off a mountain.

He continued on.

As he stepped back toward the employee section, he saw what the counter had hidden: four bodies in Wendy’s uniforms, huddled and sprawled around the sticky floor.

The world tunneled in alarmingly, before he noticed that all of their hands and feet were zip-tied. Which had to mean they weren’t dead, just knocked out. If they were dead, why would they need to be restrained? His mind replayed the note on Piper’s desk. _Can you buy chloroform on the internet??_ Looks like she found the answer.

A noise came from farther back in the building. There must be a storeroom back there. He walked towards it, tiny knife pointed outward, treading as quietly as his rubber soles could tread on the squeaky linoleum.

Unfortunately, there was only one entrance to the room beyond, so stealth was kind of impossible if anyone was on the other side of the door. He braced himself, took another steadying breath, and turned the knob.

The floor in the storeroom beyond was completely destroyed, hastily chewed up by some mechanical giant. A large pit, probably more than six feet across, had been jackhammered and dug out of the center of the space so that dark soil below the foundations peeked through. The cuts weren’t clean, so rough slabs of concrete foundation and plastic floor were sticking every which way and scattered around the rest of the room. The hole wasn’t actually deep—it probably wouldn’t even reach knee-height if Adam were to stand in the middle of it—but the jagged unfinished edges looked dangerous.

Around the rough edge of the hole, a thick line of some brilliantly shiny red substance was painted, forming a huge pentagram. And standing near the hole, in her sleekest suit jacket and skirt combo, was Piper Greenmantle.

Adam stopped short in the doorway, taking in the entire sight.

“I was right! I knew it!” Piper exclaimed as soon as she noticed him, clapping her hands in delight. “I saw straight through that bland smile of yours. I know who you _really_ are, Adam Parrish.”

His heart was hammering against his chest. It seemed that he wasn’t too late (barely) but he still hadn’t prepared for the—again, obvious in retrospect—eventuality of actually facing Piper, in all her rage. He had wanted to beat her to the spirit altogether. But he refused to show his despair, his fear, his uncertainty. He casually lifted his chin, at the same time flashing his right hand that was holding the pitiful knife.

“You must know I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you, then,” he said mildly.

Piper laughed again. “Wow, that line was just like out of a movie. This is surprisingly fun.” Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, I even have minions!” She called out toward the back of the room, where another door was visible. Adam thought it might have led to the drive-through window.

“Hey, boys? I’ve got a job for you.”

Adam swallowed as two men emerged. One was absolutely huge, with bulging arms and fists the size of toddlers’ heads. The other man was far more normal-man-sized, but he carried himself with a shrewdness and an ease that spoke of absolute confidence in his role.

A role which, at the current moment, apparently consisted of grabbing Adam, hog-tying him, and tossing him into the hole in the ground. Adam only managed one tiny slash of his tiny knife at the larger man before he was subdued. A truly pathetic display. _You’re a shitty action hero, Adam Parrish_ , he thought gloomily through a face full of dirt. He struggled onto his side to look up at Piper looming over him, satisfied at a tidy job well done.

“What do you want from me?” he asked. As before, he did his best to make sure his voice sounded normal, steady, direct, free of all emotion. It was quite obvious that his situation was unpleasant. He didn’t need to hand her any more weapons by acting the part of the terrified prey.

“Oh, just your body,” she winked at him, then laughed. “Not like that, obviously. I would never take advantage of my position to sexually harass a subordinate.”

“But you would murder one?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Some things are necessary, and some things are just gross. I do have standards, you know.”

He changed direction. He had no plan, but maybe one would come to him if he gathered enough data in the meantime. Maybe he could press her for information. Maybe she was one of those villains who needed people to appreciate her genius.

“Whose blood is that? On the floor?” he asked. He supposed it was a positive that she had already set that part of the ritual up before he had arrived. It did seem like quite a lot of blood, and he was relieved that she hadn’t tried to drain him of the substance.

“Cow,” Piper said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s not important that it’s human. That much was very clear.”

Adam remembered that. His own bloodletting to dispatch his father’s ghost all those years ago had been a small deer. He had been worried at the time that it wouldn’t be enough of a sacrifice—white-tails practically outnumbered people in Virginia, and the government actually encouraged “managing” the overpopulation. But it did the trick. In any case, if the animal offerings these things sometimes called for were anything like those to appease the gods in ancient times, he didn’t blame whoever was in charge for liking a bit of venison or beef every now and again.

“The rest of the ritual directions were not so clear,” Piper continued, in her perky I’m-annoyed-but-trying-not-to-sound-annoyed voice. “I got the best advice I could find on _short notice_ —” she glared at him, “—but we might need to experiment some to get it right. A little trial and error. And I won’t apologize for that, because you only have yourself to blame, really.”

“Hey, boss?” A voice called from somewhere else in the room. The lip of the pit blocked Adam’s view, but it sounded like the smaller of the two minions, rather than the huge lumbering behemoth. Piper’s head disappeared from view as she went to see to the problem.

Adam used the break to try to pull his wrists apart, testing the strength of the plastic. It was no use. The zip-ties were the heavy-duty kind, made specifically for handcuffs rather than the flimsy ones for everyday household tasks. He was well and truly stuck.

Okay, so this wasn’t great. Definitely not the best idea he’d ever had. But at least he had a team, this time. This wasn’t anything like the terror and isolation he felt during those traumatic events in his teenage years. As Ronan had said just the other night, he wasn’t in this alone anymore.

Except—he was.

He realized with dawning horror that he hadn’t actually let anyone know where he was going before he rushed out the door. He hadn’t even brought his cell phone with him.

Yet one more thing that was glaringly obvious, looking back. How, _how_ , _HOW_ could he have been so goddamn careless?

As it turned out, years of habit couldn’t be wiped away in a couple of weeks. As soon as he felt the slightest pressure, he had fallen so easily into his old pattern of assuming that he was alone. The current result being that he had directly arranged his circumstances to ensure that he was.

No one was coming to rescue him.

Piper’s head and shoulders popped back into view, looking annoyed.

“Honestly. I have to do everything myself. Why can’t I find competent help?”

 _Maybe because you just end up murdering them?_ Adam thought, a little hysterically. He did not say that out loud, though. Instead, he asked the question that had been weighing on him since he had gotten to the restaurant.

“Why did you let me know that you were onto me? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just do the ritual before anyone noticed, even if you did suspect that someone else knew about it?”

“Well, I’m not going to throw _myself_ into that pit, am I? I want to be alive to actually enjoy my favor. I needed a sacrifice. And I’m pretty fucking pissed at you for getting me fired. So, you know, efficient solution. You always did appreciate those.”

Adam felt a glimmer of hope. She wasn’t planning on killing him, then. She just wanted to use him to free the spirit. And hadn’t he been planning to use himself as the conduit anyways? Although, Piper seemed to think that the sacrifice was a lethal prospect. He had no idea. He needed to probe more, to see if she had any information that could possibly be useful. He focused back in on the conversation.

“Why would you have Noah Czerny killed, then? That doesn’t seem very efficient. He didn’t even know anything about the Shadow before he died. He was just a history student.”

Piper pursed her lips, looking irritated. “How did you know about that? Are those damn lobbyists running their mouths? God, I _told_ Colin that was a bad idea.”

“That’s how I knew you were up to something shady in the first place.” Adam had very deliberately stopped himself from saying _we_ instead of _I_. If she didn’t know the involvement of Ronan and the others, all the better.

“Yes, well, that didn’t exactly go to plan. I just asked Colin to have him followed for me. Once I figured out this place was important, I started gathering information from historians who studied that sort of stuff. And I was right! Those papers of his were invaluable. The rest of that whole mess was just Colin going above and beyond. I think he was trying to feel more involved. He loves to pretend he’s Jack Bauer or who-the-fuck-ever without doing any of the actual grunt work. A little annoying, honestly; this is why I don’t encourage him to take initiative. But whatever. Once I’m favored, we won’t have to worry about those consequences.”

Adam’s blood boiled. She was despicable. All she was worried about was what would happen to _her_. Visions of Noah’s blank stare, his bloody temple, his splayed limbs in the woods came back to him all in a rush. He felt sickened.

“You’re horrible,” he said, with as much poison as he could fit into the syllables.

She rolled her eyes. “Everyone does horrible things sometimes. Welcome to the world. I’ll donate to a historical society in his name; will that make you feel better? The Smithsonian, or whatever.”

He curled his lip in obvious disgust. She had gotten him very wrong if she thought that type of argument would sway him into accepting the murder of innocent people as some collateral damage on the road to power. But she was unmoved at his revulsion. She clapped her hands together once.

“Anyways, this has been a great chat, Adam, but we really need to get down to business.”

She pulled a tiny notebook from her tiny jacket pocket and flipped through the pages. Once she found what she was looking for, she glanced around, sighed, and read from the pages:

****

_“By the earth, by my hand,_

_troubled blood with sleep’s unease_

_bring forth the bloom_ _.”_

She looked up. “God, that sounds dumb. Why are these rituals always so…” she waved her hands to accentuate the point, “flowery? Like, did this really need to be poetry? Or was that just Niamh’s doing? Stupid woman probably made it sound as wishy washy as possible just to make me feel like an idiot.”

Adam didn’t feel like any of this required a response. He had braced himself for some unknown horror to hit while she had been speaking the verse, but nothing actually seemed to be happening.

Piper, not being a complete idiot, also noticed this. She looked around, exasperated.

“Well?” she called to the room at large. The only response was from the smaller of the two henchmen, who stuck his head through the door to ask if she needed something, and just as quickly ducked out when she threw a fist-sized chunk of plastic floor at his head.

She read the verse again. Nothing.

She read it louder.

She grabbed Adam’s tied hands and stuck them in the sticky trail of blood that formed the pentagram while she read the verse.

Nothing worked.

She stormed out of view, leaving Adam alone in the pit. He heard faint sounds of destruction from elsewhere in the building.

After an interminable wait, she returned, looking grim but satisfied. She opened the book again, then read,

_“Par la terre, par ma main,_

_sang troublé avec malaise de sommeil,_

_apportez la fleur!”_

Nothing happened.

The entire situation was now in danger of becoming interminably boring, rather than terrifying. Adam tried not to laugh.

Piper gave a high-pitched growl of frustration.

“WHY is magic so goddamn incomprehensible?!”

“You thought that would work?” Adam said drily, then mentally kicked himself for engaging with her. He shouldn't rile her up.

“The fucker who did the binding in the first place was French! Maybe it took French to undo it. It’s an easy enough assumption.”

Then she tried to get Adam to read it, in English or in French, but he flatly refused. This caused another minor tantrum. Finally, Piper stilled. She turned back toward Adam, an eerily thoughtful look on her magazine cover-ready face. Adam stilled as well. Not a good sign.

“You didn’t know I was here already when you rushed over, did you?” she asked. By this time, she didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t give one.

“You might have thought it was a possibility, of course, but you didn’t come here to stop me. You would have brought—I don’t know, a weapon or something if that was the case.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“That means you must have been planning on trying the ritual yourself.”

Adam very carefully didn’t react.

“Do you know how to do it?”

Adam didn’t answer.

“You do, don’t you? Mister Always Prepared Adam Parrish. You’d never rush in here without a plan. That’s Ronan’s style, maybe, but not yours. You’re always complaining about his off-the-cuff behavior.”

She was right. Adam had spent nearly his entire time at Cabeswater complaining (mildly, politely, but still complaining) about Ronan’s methods of creation. God, he was such a dick. No wonder Ronan thought he was an irritating little suck-up. Adam could barely think about his old self without cringing. And now, look at what he’d become. Rushing headlong into a trap, because he refused to ask for help. Refused to even remember that help was available to him. His past self wasn’t the only idiot, here. Maybe one day he’d be able to find the proper balance on the wildly swinging pendulum of his own behavior. If he managed to survive this.

He glared up at Piper, still refusing to speak, even to deny the allegation.

“Hey, Lucky,” Piper called to one of the huge minions. No one moved. She glared and made a “get over here” wave with two slim fingers, nails polished in a soothing pale pink.

“Uh, me?” the guy she was glaring at asked in confusion. She gave him a condescendingly irritated _what-are-you-stupid?_ look. “My name is Beast.”

“Oh my god, I don’t give a shit. Neither of those are real names. Just come here.”

He shrugged and lumbered over.

“Get him to tell me what he knows,” she commanded.

Adam felt a thick, heavy jolt of terror. Years had passed, but they hadn’t faded the sour taste congealing in his throat, the lead suddenly lining his stomach. He did not want to get hit now, any more than he had as a child. He had always tried to put himself into his father’s head, tried to figure out what he had needed to hear to tame his anger. Results had never been very satisfactory, and he very much doubted that anything he said would defuse his current situation. He couldn’t even tell a convincing truth, because he didn’t actually have any answers. And he knew Piper wouldn’t believe that.

Maybe he could lie? What would he even say, though? She’d figure out any lie pretty quickly when his information didn’t actually work. And what if somehow something he said _did_ work? Wouldn’t that be worse? He was so off his game that he couldn’t think of a single convincing thing to say before the first punch came.

Was he really, truly destined to repeat the same cycles over and over again for his entire life?

He tried pleading.

He tried telling the truth—that he had no more information than her.

He tried lying—that he would help her, any way he could, as long as they stopped.

And then he tried nothing at all except to block out the pain.

After a while—or was it only a minute? Had it been hours? Through hazy waves of incomprehension, he heard the mountain call to Piper.

“Hey, boss? He’s got a little book in his pocket.” He tossed Adam’s mini Latin dictionary over to her. Vaguely, fuzzily, he understood that this was bad, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Everything hurt. Nothing felt real. He tried to look up, to focus on Piper. He needed to know what was happening, to figure out how to _fix it._

Curiosity, followed shortly by enlightenment, crossed Piper’s face as she looked at the small book. “Language of the Classics, of course!”

And then irritation shadowed her pretty features. She pulled out her cell and furiously punched a few numbers.

“Colin, goddammit, pick up your phone!” she hissed into the receiver. Apparently, Colin did not pick up his phone, because she began to leave a vicious voicemail.

“Call me back as soon as you hear this. I am fixing this problem, but it turns out I actually need your help. Shockingly. For Latin nonsense. Get your ass over here A.S.A.P. If you don’t come through for me on this, I am still going to find a way to figure it out and _you_ are the first person I am going to hunt down in revenge. So, think about your priorities, mmkay? Bye, honey, talk to you soon! At least, _I better_.”

While they waited, Piper once again tried to solicit Adam’s help. Once again, he refused, but this time not out of stubbornness. His brain was in no shape to do Latin homework after what her toady had subjected him to. At least Piper seemed to understand that this particular problem wouldn’t be solved by more punches.

Adam wondered wildly if this might teach her to not be so hasty with her (or someone else’s) fists. Probably not. The old adage “violence never solves anything” was horseshit, anyways. Violence had historically solved lots of problems. It was only Adam’s bad luck that he kept getting the brunt of it, in his own life.

But Piper was not a very patient woman. She would not like the idea of waiting for Adam’s lucidity to return. Or her husband to return a phone call.

“I’m going to have to do this thing my damn self too, aren’t I?” She stomped out of the room, leaving Adam alone with his pain.

The day grew longer and stretched into dusk, and then night.

The smell of the grease that threaded through the entire building was driving Adam nuts. It was always strange what the mind decided to focus in on, instead of pain. He ached all over, but the most unbearable sensation was the itch over his shoulder that his tied hands couldn’t reach, and the aroma of stale French fries that seeped from the very walls into his eyes and nose and ears, clinging to his hair and his clothes. It was sickening, even though he hadn’t eaten in hours and his stomach growled in protest.

He waited. For what, he had no idea.

Eventually, he slept.

__________

Adam was curled on his side, cheek against the earth at the bottom of the shallow pit. He’d been there, laying in the same position, for hours, but it was impossible to say how many. He had slept. Probably. It was hard to tell what was a dream and what was awake, anymore. There was nothing to hang on to, no anchors for the passage of time other than the faint glow from the windows in the room. The temporary concrete barriers put up outside the building were blocking most of the light, but he could at least tell that it was no longer night.

That meant it was Monday. Was Piper coming back? The thought crossed his mind that he had been well and truly abandoned, and then he just as soon dismissed it. She was obviously not going to give up on the favor that easily. Maybe she meant to leave him here all day as some new method of torture, to get him to crack and spill information that he didn’t actually have.

Sooner or later, someone would come to investigate this place, right? The fake construction site wouldn’t be able to fool people for long. Were the other workers still knocked out behind the counter? They must surely be missed by now, too. Other people had families, had loved ones to check on them, had people who must notice and care when they didn’t come home.

Would anyone miss him? Come to investigate his disappearance?

As he lay there, his mind began to craft its own stimulation. He began to hallucinate. He thought he heard a voice, whispering in his ear pressed to the dirt—his deaf ear. **_What do you want?_**

What did he _want_?

What he wanted was to redo the day before. To have come up with a real plan. To have texted the group chat. To have texted _Ronan_ —hadn’t he been thinking of doing just that before Piper’s email came through? He wanted—God, he just _wanted_. He wanted to be back home. He wanted to figure out how to get out of this. How to let the Shadow know that Piper was her enemy, not someone to bestow favor upon. That Piper was a _Greenmantle_ , and therefore untrustworthy. Hadn’t the spirit been betrayed by a Greenmantle once before already?

Wanting was no use. He didn’t know how to reach the spirit, bound as she was. He could lay there and think about what he wanted all day, but he would still be just as bound as she.

He thought he heard another sound. But this one was from his working ear, from somewhere else in the building.

His heart lurched. Any sound would imply an end to this unbearable waiting, but things could always be worse.

And of course, things got worse.

“I come bearing reinforcements!” Piper said cheerily as she strode back into the room. She was carrying the same small handheld notebook and a large coffee—which explained the cheeriness—and was accompanied by a snub-nosed boyishly handsome man, dressed in a sharp suit and tie like this was a brief routine stop that he made every morning before heading to the office.

“Adam, you remember my husband Colin, right? I’m sure you guys have met,” Piper waved her coffee-clutching hand in dismissive introduction. Adam knew it was no use appealing to this man for help. Certainly not now that he knew Colin was the one responsible for Noah’s death.

He slowly pushed himself up onto his elbow and scooted his legs under him so he could prop himself into a kneeling position. He didn’t want to meet whatever this new fate might be while he was curled in the dirt in a fetal position. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea though, because as soon as his head lifted up, he was assailed by a tidal wave of nausea and exhaustion. His head was stuffed with cotton, the stuff filming his ears and his eyes, and the air pressed in from all sides. He swayed on his knees alarmingly, and fell forward to catch himself on the dirt floor with his bound hands. He felt more grounded as his fingers found purchase in the soft earth.

Piper ignored his obvious damaged condition. She set the coffee down on the floor behind her and produced Adam’s own confiscated Swiss army knife from a pocket. He gazed at the sharp glint of the exposed blade as if hypnotized, comprehension uncommonly slow. He shook his head slightly, trying to rid it of the cottony feeling, but only managed to start up a searing drumbeat of a headache behind his right eye.

“Lucky for you, this should all be over soon. I got a few more tips,” she smiled. It was uncanny how she could look so cheerily pleased in this place, with these horrors she had created. She didn’t even look evil, or malevolent. She looked like Piper, his boss, his coworker, happy about being awarded a bid for a new site. Adam thought this would probably add several more years to the backlog of therapy he needed in order to untangle the mess of distrust he held for the entire world and everyone in it.

She kneeled in front of the hole. He gazed up at her dully. He couldn’t even amass the energy to protest—and what was he going to do, really? She reached forward with the knife and he felt a brief sharp pinprick on the meat of his right forearm. His head flopped down dimly, and he watched, unseeing, as the bright blood beaded from the sudden wound and trickled down toward his hands, still stuck in the dirt. He didn’t even look back up at her as she made two more sharp cuts, then did the same on his other arm.

Adam didn’t think these wounds were in any danger of killing him—at least, not immediately. They were shallow, the blood flow slow and small and steady rather than gushing. He was pretty rapidly feeling the effects, though. He began to feel faint. Well, fainter. He had already felt faint. Combined with the exhaustion, the battering of his body, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten or drank anything since midday the day before, he was quickly losing grip on sanity. He swayed on his knees again, even though his hands were propping him up. His chin flopped fully to his chest, too heavy to keep upright.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the brilliant lines of crimson drawing patterns on his arms, rushing down to feed the earth. He swayed, and watched, and tunneled in on himself until he was nothing but the stream of blood itself.

Through layers of cotton and mist and fog, he heard Piper say something in irritation. It was always irritation with her, he thought madly.

_“Babe? Go see what the deal is, please.”_

He couldn’t focus on her voice enough to understand what it meant, this time. He didn’t think she was addressing him, so why would it matter?

_“Isn’t that what your stupid minions are for? I want to watch the magic. “_

That voice was deeper. A man’s. Adam thought he sounded petulant, which was ludicrous, from his position. It’s not like whoever that was had much to complain about. Comparatively.

_“The minions are already out there. I assume they’re the ones making all the noise. Now go take care of it. Please. Thank you.”_

After this exchange, Adam’s brain turned to static, completely out of awareness of the outside world. He fell farther and farther into himself. He was conscious only of his own self, encased in the rivers of blood rushing down to meet fingers buried in cool, damp earth.

He sensed Piper’s voice fade in and out, like a badly tuned radio. He sensed another voice, lower rumblings. He might have felt more hands on his body, on his arms and his face. He had been touched and tormented and manhandled and hurt so much that it was no use even acknowledging the act any longer.

But all of a sudden, words cut through the static with startling clarity. Piper’s voice again, in a strong steady resonance,

_“Per terram, meis manibus,_

_turbati sunt et sanguis in somno iterato coepere,_

_florem protulit.”_

Adam felt a rumbling through his essence, tethered to the ground. And then a rushing. And then a roaring. His hands fell deeper into the earth. Sharp, bright sensation zipped into him through the connection, clearing his head.

He heard the Latin words, echoing again and again.

_per terram, meis minibus - turbati sunt et sanguis in somno iterato coepere - florem protulit - per terram, meis minibus - turbati sunt et sanguis in somno iterato coepere - florem protulit_

He thought he heard a familiar voice call his name from the outside. Then, the voice was inside his head. Or was it? Maybe it was the same voice, or maybe it was a new voice. _Was_ it only inside his head? It sounded like it was coming from everywhere. Maybe inside and outside had no meaning anymore. He couldn’t feel his body, so it was possible he no longer had one.

The disembodied voice—or was every voice disembodied now?—asked a question.

**_What do you want?_ **

His mind formed a response, just in case it had been speaking to him. He wasn’t sure.

_Were you talking to me, earlier? I’m Adam. Are you the one known as the Boundary Shadow? Persephone?_

**_What do you want, Adam?_ **

_I want to, to…_

He paused, confused. He wanted too much. Or nothing at all. He didn’t want anything _from_ her, he only wanted her to not be used against those he loved. As his tangled thoughts were thrust out of him, she somehow seemed to understand.

**_You are meant to be the sacrifice?_ **

_No,_ Adam thought desperately _. I mean, yes, but not for her. For you. Can you help me? Please. Please help, if you can._

**_You want my favor?_ **

_NO. Just a favor. A tiny one. Just, please, don’t give her any power. I don’t need anything else._

**_You ask for little. You are not like most men I’ve known._ **

_I don’t need anything for myself,_ Adam repeated. _I’ll be fine._

**_Bit of a martyr, are you not?_ **

_I’m not in this by choice,_ Adam responded, crossly.

It’s not like he meant to use his body as a sacrifice for Piper’s plans. He very deliberately did not think about the offer he made to his friends to perform this ritual on his own, or the fact that he had rushed over here with the intention of doing just that. He felt that the kidnapping and forced participation canceled out those uncomfortable facts.

 ** _That is not what I meant,_** the voice continued. **_I can see what you are, Adam. A wire. A dependable, reliable channel for others to use. Always pushing down, always suppressing your own desires._**

**_But I can see through you, Adam. I can give you what you want._ **

_I don’t want anything,_ he repeated. _But if there’s some way to help you, I can do that,_ he added.

 ** _Hmm,_** the voice said, but it sounded amused. **_Very well. Yes, I can use you, wire, to help myself. Careful what you promise, though. It might hurt a bit._**

_I’m used to it. But—wait, please! Are you—I heard you might be…damaged, after being bound for so long. How can I trust what you say? What you are? What you’ve become?_

**_Damaged? Hah! I have only become what others have made me. I am no more damaged now than I have been before, by those who would use me for their own. I have no quarrel with you, only those who seek to gain through the misuse of others._ **

_Then if this helps to set you free, you’ll be at peace?_

**_Perhaps. If you do me this favor, I can aid you well in return, Adam. Wire. Are you truly to spend the rest of your days quietly shaping the world that others create? Your power should not be about other people. It should not be about other things._ ** **_Do you not want to burn, ever, for yourself? To set your own world on fire?_ **

_I don’t need it,_ he repeated doggedly. _I just need to get out of this, and to stop Piper Greenmantle._

**_Greenmantle!_ **

_Yes, Colin is William’s descendent. I think you were acquainted? His wife is the one who’s done this to me. She wants to be favored by you._

Adam heard the voice laugh loudly, wildly, then.

**_Hahaha! Hundreds of years, and yet the world is exactly as it was. He is here, this new Greenmantle? And his wife? Then yes, I will truly be at peace once I am unbound and we are reacquainted._ **

_Okay,_ Adam said. He didn’t really care what this Shadow did to Piper and Colin, by this point.

_I’m ready._

Adam rushed back into his body. Through slitted, swollen eyes, he saw the room grow brighter and brighter. He felt a flickering warmth moving nearer, like he was walking toward a roaring bonfire.

At once, the fire engulfed him. He screamed, from the shock of it more than the pain. There was heat, but not pain, not exactly. The fire dimmed as it was sucked into his skin, and then he felt a familiar pressure building up from the core of him. The flames licked outward through his veins, fire like electricity lighting up every single nerve at once, bursting out of every skin cell.

He could see nothing but blinding white, hear nothing but the roaring in his ear.

And then, suddenly, there was nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh noo is adam gonna survive?? 
> 
> (don’t judge my google translate skills please, I am but an ignorant monolingual)
> 
>  **up next:** ronan lynch goes full ronan lynch™


	18. Back at it Again at the Cursed Wendy's

Another Monday morning at Cabeswater, another trek from Ronan’s office over to Adam’s. He was probably going to wear out the carpeting between the two rooms at this point. The door was like a magnet that kept increasing in strength—he just couldn’t stop his feet from being drawn down the path over and over again.

After the party on Friday, he was beginning to think that maybe it all wasn’t as pointless as he had first assumed. Adam had opened up to him, and Ronan had finally taken his foot out of his mouth and apologized, and at the end of it all, they had found a little companionship. And maybe a glimpse toward something— _more_. He was no longer worried about putting the friend label on their relationship. They were definitely friends. He was not so certain about the next label, but he couldn’t forget Adam’s private little smirk, like he was sharing a joke with himself, as he told Ronan straight up that he was hot. _You are, actually._ Couldn’t get blunter than that. A quick little shiver of arousal zipped through him at the memory. Yep, there was definitely something more there. Maybe wearing Adam’s defenses down through sheer quantity time spent annoying him would continue to work whatever insane magic it had already begun.

So once again, he showed up unprompted at Adam’s door.

The door was closed, which was unusual. Not unheard of, though. Occasionally when Adam was particularly annoyed at the world, he’d close the door to shut out the all the “distractions” (as in, coworkers talking at a normal volume). But he hadn’t had one of those episodes in a while.

Ronan knocked, and received no answer. He tried the handle and found it unlocked, so he popped his head in.

Adam wasn’t there.

 _What the hell?_ The guy never missed work. Did he have a meeting? He couldn’t have, since the only project he was working on was the same one Ronan was on, so he’d know about any meetings.

Disconcerted, he retraced his steps back to his office and sent Adam a text:

****

**_Ronan_ ** _: you ok?_

As the morning dragged on and there was no response, he texted the group chat:

**_Ronan_ ** _: anyone heard from adam? he’s not at work_

 **_Blue_ ** _: nope_

 **_Gansey_ ** _: no, not a peep since he let us know he got home safe on Friday._

Ronan’s sense of unease started congealing into something that felt a lot more like dread.

He had no _reason_ to assume that anything bad had happened to Adam.

But he couldn’t shake the thought that it had.

He wandered out to the break room to get a glass of water. He wasn’t really thirsty, but he also wasn’t getting any work done. As he headed toward the sink, he passed a group of coworkers trading bits of gossip about Piper’s ignominious downfall.

“It could all still be wrong,” Marie said. “A frame job, or something. She hasn’t been convicted of anything. She’s not even in jail.”

“Well, obviously. No cash bail in the city and she’s not likely to be a violent threat to society, even if she is guilty of bribing someone,” Tina replied, laughing merrily at the thought of Piper harming someone.

Ronan rolled his eyes at their backs as he started walking back to his office. What did they know about the threat that Piper could be?

He stilled.

Fuck.

Piper was still a threat.

Obviously she was. Just because they had gotten her out of the office, didn’t mean she was gone forever. In fact, she was probably all the angrier for it. Probably even more determined to find a way to free the shadow. If anyone could use a favor now, it was her. And she was clever enough to make it happen.

Adam was also clever. Clever enough to have figured this out.

Dread hardened in his stomach, sinking like lead, as the truth crashed into him with the force of a tidal wave. All at once he _knew_ that Adam had done something irrevocably stupid. How sure he had been that he would be able to do the stupid thing all by himself. How determined, how _stubborn_ when he insisted that his power would be able to protect him.

Fuckfuckfuck _fuck_ —

His feet were pounding the path back to his office before he had even figured out what to do. He frantically called Gansey, only to get his voice mail. He practically yelled into the receiver as he raced down the hall to the elevators.

“Adam went to do the damn ritual himself. I _know_ him, I know he did. I can’t believe he— _FUCK_! Just get there. I’m leaving work now. Get there as soon as you can.”

He was suddenly so, so grateful for his sleek and powerful car, and its sleek and powerful engine with all of its many horses under the hood. Not that he had ever really effectively been able to speed through city traffic. But he’d never tried it in a life or death situation before, and he was nothing if not determined.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Wendy’s island in record time. It was strangely deserted for a midday Monday—already not a good sign. Not just that, but the entire island had been converted into a construction zone, clearly the reason for the lack of customers. A worse sign. There was definitely something fishy going on, but he felt no satisfaction at being right. The lead cannonball inside him just kept getting heavier and heavier. He didn’t give a shit about the construction. He didn’t even stop to grab the hard hat in his trunk before hurdling over one of the barriers and sprinting straight through the caution tape to rip open the doors.

Before he had even stopped to scope out the situation, he was greeted with the sight of two highly unpleasant looking men, one advancing from his left and the other prowling toward him from the right.

Okay, so this clearly wasn’t going to be a stealth mission. This was a smash and grab. His favorite kind, honestly. They had already established that he wasn’t great at spying. Parrish was the sneaky one.

He hastily pushed away any thoughts of Adam Parrish and what might be happening to him. He had been hoping to find no trace of Piper or her nefarious activity, only Adam being a paranoid idiot. This new evidence to the contrary in the form of two nasty looking henchmen did not set his mind at ease. But he couldn’t dwell on that now.

He glanced between the two men and chose the guy on the left. He figured Lefty would probably be easier to dispatch quickly, before he had to deal with the whale on his other side.

At once, he was confronted with his mistake. As squared up with Lefty, Righty came at him from behind, far faster than Ronan had expected him to be. The guy grabbed his upper arms so he couldn’t swing, and his buddy Lefty took the opportunity to swing a fist straight into Ronan’s eye. He got a second jab to his stomach for good measure. Ronan coughed and doubled over as bright bursts of pain crackled out with each fist’s connection, but he wasn’t cowed. He felt a jolt of energy course through his body, the pain acting like little sparks of electricity, moving through his muscles, waking him up all over. He felt quicker than ever, more present than ever. He felt like he could go ten more rounds and still come back for more. These thugs had nothing on him. He was invincible.

He stamped down hard on Righty’s instep, and as the man groaned and let Ronan’s arms go, Ronan swung his fist down and punched him in the dick. Not exactly the sportingest move, but desperate times, and all that. Without pausing, he swung back to Lefty and jabbed him square in the nose with his left, and then got him with a quick uppercut in the jaw with his right. The man went down, hard, and Ronan kneed him in the temple for good measure. He turned back to Righty, who was still groaning, one knee on the ground, clutching his groin. Ronan, again unsporting and again uncaring, gave the guy a good kick to the head to fully knock him out.

Ronan didn’t stop to savor his victory. He dashed behind the counter to the kitchen area, then glanced around. There was really only one door to go to, but before he could move toward it, someone else exited.

The man was quite a bit shorter than Ronan, and handsome in that bland, irritating way of the clean-cut Aglionby type. Gansey-like, but far worse because Ronan could tell in a single glance that he really, deeply believed in the superiority of his species. He looked vaguely familiar, but Ronan couldn’t place him. Maybe he had been on that list of white men at the lobbying firm that they had scrolled through.

“Piper says to cut out whatever racket you’re making,” the man said dismissively, barely glancing at Ronan.

The fuck? Was this guy talking to him? Did he want Ronan to beat up his minions _more_ _quietly_? Or did this idiot think that he worked for Piper?

Oh wait. He kinda did, actually. Or, at least, he had until a couple of days ago. But he wasn’t one of her _flying monkeys_.

“Who are you?” Ronan asked.

The guy looked at him in irritation. “Colin. Don’t talk back to your betters.”

Colin Greenmantle. Piper’s husband. That made sense.

“Okay, Colin,” Ronan said, and then decked him. Colin went down like a sack of flour. Ronan stepped over his crumpled body and continued through the door ahead.

The room beyond was a disaster. The floor was completely chewed up, discarded chunks of material strewn about a huge hole in the center. And right there, in the middle of it all, was—

“Adam!” Ronan called out involuntarily.

He was kneeling in the center of the pit, wrists tied together and hands pressed down into the ground in front of him. Ronan couldn’t see his feet, but from the position of his knees, he thought they were probably bound together as well. His head was lolling toward his chest, and he didn’t look conscious even though he was propped partially upright. There was so much blood. Blood drawn in thick lines around the hole, blood all over Adam, welling up from sharp, clean slashes, the brilliant red painting contrasts on his skin like flowers bursting from the dirt after a frost. Streaks ran down his arms until scarlet coated his wrists and hands and soaked into the ground below him.

Piper, that psychopath, was leaning over him with a knife and a notebook. Ronan barely noticed her. His focus had honed in on the horrifying display of Adam’s body and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Ronan!” she said brightly. “I had no idea you were involved in this too! This is a refreshing bit of office camaraderie, I have to say. I totally thought you two despised each other.”

Ronan was rooted to the spot, eyes still on Adam’s wan face, the pallor so incongruous with his usual healthy tan. Belatedly, he realized that the crimson streaking Adam’s arms wasn’t the only color on this new pale canvas—his face and neck were cut and swollen in places, purple-red-orange-black bruises blooming and swirling over his eye, his temple, his chin…he felt another dull blow in his stomach as he realized that this was probably only the tip of the iceberg. How injured was Adam below the surface, in places that weren’t visible? What had they _done_?

“Christ, you’re a fucking psychotic bitch, aren’t you? What the hell did you do to him?”

She tsked. “That’s no way to talk to your boss. I’m disappointed in you. Bitch is _such_ a misogynistic word.” She rolled her eyes prettily to accentuate the point. At the same time, she slashed another shallow cut into Adam’s upper arm, and a fresh bright line of blood beaded out and trickled down to join the stream.

This knocked Ronan out of his daze.

“Fine,” he gritted out as he stalked over to her and shoved her bodily away from Adam’s insensible form. “You’re a psychotic asshole. How’s that?”

He leaned over the lip of the pit to grab Adam’s face in his hands. The head moved, but his eyes were unseeing, barely able—or willing—to open.

“Fuck— _Adam_ —can you hear me?” he asked insistently. All thoughts of Piper or what she might be doing had fled. All he could think of was making sure Adam was okay. His mind was a mess of flitting horrors, worst-case scenarios rushing in and being shoved away just as quickly.

“Adam? Hey, Parrish, wake _up_ —” he gently lifted Adam’s head, trying to get him to focus. Fucking hell, he looked terrible. Ronan patted at his cheek, so stark white that his freckles stood out like beacons. He was stirring slightly, so Ronan was pretty sure he wasn’t completely passed out, but he wasn’t strong enough to keep his head up on his own. It lolled to the side again, and Ronan caught it, cradling his cheek so he didn’t hurt his neck. A minor thing in the grand scheme of all that his body had already been subjected to, but if Ronan could spare him any small bit of hurt, he would do so.

“Wha—” Adam croaked insensibly.

“Parrish, hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m here,” Ronan said.

Behind him, he heard a sound and suddenly remembered Piper was still there. Fuck. He really couldn’t take care of Adam and whatever shit she was up to at the same time. He craned his head around as she began to speak.

_“Per terram, meis minibus—_ _”_

He gently let Adam’s head fall forward so his chin touched his chest and stalked over towards where Piper was standing, reading Latin from her little notebook.

_“—turbati sunt et sanguis in somno iterato coepere—_ _”_

“Stop it,” he hissed. “What are you doing? If this kills him, I will rip you apart with my bare hands.”

_“—florem protulit!”_

A decade out of private school had rusted his Latin to shit, but conversing with Opal had kept it at least lightly oiled on the surface. He was pretty sure Piper’s words translated to something about Earth, and hands, and blood, and flowers?

He ripped the book from her hand and tossed it aside. She swiped at him like a cat, clawing her nails down the side of his neck. He felt the bright sting like a shock of adrenaline to his heart. He pinioned her arm and grabbed the knife out of her other hand, shoving her farther out of the way. Even a few seconds of a head start might help. He ran back to Adam, intending to cut his binds and get him away from this hell as quickly as he could.

But as he kneeled down in front of the pit again, Adam suddenly stirred. First, he sat upright and back onto his knees. Ronan thought he might have gained a little burst of energy, which would definitely help if he didn’t need to carry him out of here, but it was soon apparent that this was not a natural movement. His body became rigid and his head tipped back toward the ceiling. His eyes were wide open, but he was not awake. Whatever he was seeing, it was very clearly not a half-destroyed fast food restaurant. He was experiencing something else, some wholly different world, that no one else could see.

It was a terrifying sight.

“What the fuck did you do?!” Ronan hissed furiously, looking back at Piper. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Hmm? Oh, God, I don’t know. Who knows what happens to the body when it’s used.”

Ronan wanted to kill her, but that would require leaving Adam’s side, and that was out of the question.

After a few minutes—an eternity—of this horror movie display, Adam’s body bent over toward the ground again, so that his hands could once again find purchase in the dirt. His mouth moved, hoarse and rasping voice repeating the Latin that Piper had spoken earlier.

_“per terram, meis minibus,_

_turbati sunt et sanguis in somno iterato coepere,_

_florem protulit.”_

He repeated the phrase again.

Or, at least, his lips moved, and the same words came out. But it was no longer Adam’s voice. Instead, it was a female voice—Ronan couldn’t tell if it was a woman’s or a child’s voice—that emerged from his moving mouth.

The very air began to crackle. Ronan caught the smell of ozone, sharp and clean, as a wind whipped through the room, and he felt all the hair on his arms stand on end. A thunderstorm was brewing around them, while outside the sun beat down through clear, cloudless skies.

“It’s working!” Ronan thought he hear Piper yell delightedly from behind. Well, _something_ was working, at least. Was this what she had planned to happen?

The chant crawled along in the woman-child’s voice, words repeating over and over again, stumbling and crowding into each other until one long stream of unseparated sounds poured from Adam’s mouth. He began to—glow. That was the only way Ronan could think to describe it. Not like neon, or radioactivity. Like light. Or, like _lightning_.

Ronan felt terror pressing in on him inexorably from all sides—not of Adam himself, of course, but of what was happening to Adam. He scrambled forward on his knees to grab onto the sides of Adam’s face again, hoping to see that the other man was somehow still present through all of this. Ronan moved Adam’s face back and forth, trying to find sense in his eyes, but they were blank. No, they were more than blank—they were completely absent of both pupils and irises, a horrifyingly empty, shining white.

He called Adam’s name again, slapping lightly at his cheeks, but the man was so far gone from reality that Ronan didn’t think that anything he could do was going to bring him back.

Without further warning, Adam’s entire body burst into white-hot light to match his eyes. Where an Adam Parrish-shaped body had been a second before, now a pillar of light shot up in a brilliant streak toward the ceiling. Ronan’s hands were consumed along with the form he had been clinging to. It was heat, lightning, raw and jagged power punching through his body. The sensation was intense, fraying and biting at his nerves, and he thought madly that it was probably sort of like what would happen if he stuck a giant fork into a giant electrical socket. He couldn’t feel his hands anymore, but neither could he pull them free. It wasn’t exactly like he had plunged them into a bonfire, but that didn’t stop him expecting to see them burnt to cinders when this was all over. He couldn’t see them at all, engulfed as they were in the column of searing light.

How could Adam be surviving this? He was nothing, anymore. Just fire and lightning.

Suddenly, out of the pillar of light crawled—a woman. Her white hair was voluminous, and so bright that for a moment it seemed as if it was made of the blinding light she had just emerged from. She slowly unfolded herself, her body contorting strangely, before she shook herself slightly and stood upright. Her hair was still shining and her eyes were as blank and glowing as Adam’s had been, a minute ago.

Then she stepped away from the light, and she was a normal woman. Well, a normal dead woman, at least. She still looked peculiar, with her hair still an enormous white-blonde cloud, and her eyes the darkest brown, darker than chocolate, nearly black. She was dressed in what Ronan assumed was the typical fashion for her time period, in a long full skirt and half-sleeves, the front of the bodice tied together with rough-hewn laces.

She looked down impassively at Ronan. He met her gaze, unafraid.

“You are not the Greenmantle?” she asked him in that same child-like voice he had heard coming from Adam’s mouth earlier.

He shook his head.

“They’re behind me. Blonde woman and dark-haired pretty boy,” he said frankly. He had no hesitation about pointing them out. After what they had put Adam through, he half wanted to join her in her revenge tour. But he still had far more pressing issues.

“Is Adam going to be okay? All right, I mean? What did you do to him?”

She touched him gently on the shoulder, and smiled, but she did not answer.

Ronan turned to watch her go, and then looked away. He did not actually need to see her carry out her vengeance, whatever it might be. He stared back into the column of light, straining his eyes, trying to make out a body, some sort of form—anything that might let him know that Adam still existed.

An ominous cracking sound came from above their heads. Ronan managed to look up to where the light that used to be Adam had reached the ceiling and saw that it had broken through. Huge, jagged cracks splintered out from the breach, and slabs of plaster and wood began to break off and rain down.

As the world came crashing down around their heads, Ronan hurled his body forward into the searing light, trying to shield whatever might be left of Adam from the worst of the falling rubble. And then he was nothing. The lightning had consumed him as completely as it had Adam. He was no longer aware of his own body. He had no sense of time passing. He was a thick wire of sparking and humming electricity.

At long last, the world ended.

The new world that is, filled as it had been with blank, blinding white and heat and crackling currents. And with its end, the old world—the real world—slowly swam back into focus.

When Ronan could sense his surroundings again, he found himself in the dirt pit, curled around Adam’s prone form. Without a moment’s hesitation, or any thought to the consequences, he had thrown himself headfirst into a column of lightning, and he had survived. A pretty reckless move, even for him, although it had seemed like a good idea at the time. The only acceptable idea, really. But it had all been for nothing, anyways—the collapsing building hadn’t gotten near them. The bloody shape drawn on the floor of the restaurant must have acted as a sort of force-field. They were huddled in the hole in the ground, surrounded by rubble, and they were completely untouched.

Now, thank God and Mary and the little baby Jesus Christ and all the Saints, Adam was a person again. Not a burnt out, blackened husk, like Ronan had feared. But he looked as battered and bruised as he had when Ronan first ran into the room, and he wasn’t moving. Ronan lifted his head as gently as he could under the circumstances—those circumstances being abject panic—and tried feeling for a pulse.

“Shit! Shitshit _shitshit_ —Adam? Adam, can you hear me?”

Ronan frantically patted his pockets for his phone with one free hand, cradling Adam’s body with most of the rest of him. As he quickly swiped away a million (okay, four) text notifications from Gansey so he could call 911, he felt the body in his arms stir slightly.

Adam’s mouth was moving, just slightly. Sound was escaping. Slightly. He lifted his head and Ronan leaned an ear down to hear.

“Fuck off, Lynch…that’s not going in our model…”

He laughed, part disbelief, part hysteria, the sound so incongruous with the gravity of the moment. Adam’s senseless mind somehow thought they were back in the middle of one of their countless arguments at work.

“Parrish—?” said Ronan.

Adam collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh noo is adam gonna survive?? did I just end the second chapter in a row with the same exact cliffhanger? I swear we will move on in time next update.
> 
> I also feel the need to inform you all that news broke this week that dc is finally planning to use eminent domain to seize and destroy this wendy’s and everyone is making jokes about it being cursed sooooo this chapter seems especially prescient. like, look at this article that I (shockingly) did not write myself: https://www.washingtonian.com/2021/02/02/rest-in-pieces-dave-thomas-circle/
> 
>  **up next:** the resolution!?! can't believe we’re almost to the end, folx!


	19. Architects and Engineers, Part II

When awareness returned to Adam Parrish, it came in sluggish drips. The first thing he was aware of was the slow steady beep of a machine on his right side. The second thing was a faint throbbing in his skull. The third, an intense and irritating dryness that coated his mouth and inched all the way down his throat. He couldn’t feel the rest of his body. He wasn’t sure whether he still had the rest of his body. He told his brain to twitch his fingers, and slowly, they twitched. He did the same to his toes. Okay, good. All his limbs seemed to be intact, or at least still present. He blinked open his eyes, and they took longer than normal to adjust to picking up visual signals again. Maybe it was just because most of what he could see was white.

This was a distressingly familiar scene. He’d been in this same room before, after being beaten half to death, after having his body invaded by some force entirely not his own. Was this actually the same hospital room? Had his entire adult life been a hallucination?

He tried taking a deeper deliberate breath, and the dryness in his throat made him cough. The machine attached to him blipped in protest.

In a second, Ronan Lynch was out of a chair in the corner of the room and standing by his bedside. Adam’s lethargic brain re-evaluated. This wasn’t so familiar a scene, after all. A beating, a possession, an emergency room visit, sure. Practically déja-vu.

But this time, he hadn’t woken up alone.

For a split second, Adam thought wildly that Ronan was about to throw himself onto the bed but had changed his mind. Or, more like he had changed his body, not his mind—like he had run into an invisible wall before he got through the motion. Instead, he reached out cautiously towards Adam’s face—then again, was prevented by something. Adam used the moments of indecision to take in the sight of him. A dark bruise bloomed around Ronan’s right eye and crawled halfway down his cheek, and a set of what looked like fingernail scratches climbed up the side of his neck. He was sporting a dark five o’clock shadow that was really more like ten o’clock. Or, like, midnight o’clock. _Did that even make sense?_ Adam’s brain floated around his head like a helium balloon, thoughts untethered, bouncing off his skull.

Instead of Adam’s face, Ronan’s outstretched hand, knuckles bruised and bloodied, landed on Adam’s hand. Softly, so softly, he squeezed Adam’s fingers.

Adam, because he found that he could, squeezed back.

“I thought you were dead.”

Adam tried to speak, then tried again. “T-tougher than that.”

“You lit up like a firework display, man. I thought you were being fried alive right in front of me.”

“You didn’t need to watch. You didn’t need to come at all.”

Ronan snorted softly. “Yeah, Adam. I really, really did.”

He squeezed Adam’s hand lightly again. Adam heard the machine blip again. The steady beep on the monitor began to speed up slightly. God, that was embarrassing.

Ronan looked at the machine, slightly alarmed, and then smirked as it sank in. “Did I just make your heart skip a beat, Parrish? I thought that only happened in Taylor Swift songs.”

“Maybe I’m scared of you,” he rasped out. “You look like a hooligan.”

“Is that right?” Ronan’s smirk didn’t fade.

He readjusted his grip slightly so he could slowly stroke Adam’s protruding wrist bone with his thumb. The beeps continued to draw closer together. Carefully, he turned the hand over so the inside of Adam’s arm was facing up, and his thumb continued a slow trajectory back and forth over Adam’s pulse point on the inside of his wrist. The beeps grew in confidence.

“Jesus God, I love this machine,” Ronan laughed quietly, almost disbelievingly. “Can you bring it with you everywhere?”

“Could you maybe get me some water before you try to induce a heart attack while I’m already on my deathbed?”

“Thought you said you weren’t dead.”

“Might die here of thirst while you amuse yourself at my expense.”

Ronan looked back at Adam. His glacial eyes, normally armed for battle, were now so, so soft. He briefly raised Adam’s hand to his lips to give it a quick kiss on the back of his fingers, before rising to go rummage in a bag in the corner. Adam just lay there, stunned. His traitorous heart monitor beeped away merrily in the background.

Ronan returned to his side with a water bottle, but Adam hesitated before taking it. Wasn’t there something about not being able to drink when you were in the ER? His helium-balloon brain couldn’t grasp anything more than that.

“Actually, maybe I should talk to the doctor first,” he scratched out.

“They aren’t prepping you for surgery, dude. I’m sure it’s fine.”

When Adam still didn’t take the water from his hand, he continued.

“Look at yourself. With everything you’ve been through, you think a swallow of water is gonna be the thing that brings you down?”

Adam smiled weakly, and took the offering. Ronan dragged his chair so it was next to the bed, and reclaimed his grip on Adam’s hand.

Before long, a doctor came in to give him the rundown on his status. She let Ronan stay in the chair after checking with Adam. He was still gripping Adam’s hand like a lifeline.

“Our best guess at what happened is that you were struck by lightning. It’s rare, but it does happen, and most people survive it. There may be a number of long-term effects, but we really can’t tell right now. Your CT and x-rays look fine, no internal injuries beyond some bruising, and you’ve been moving all of your limbs so there’s likely no nerve damage. You didn’t even get any burns, which is—remarkable, actually. We only assume it was lightning from the eyewitnesses. And the resulting damage to the building. How do you feel?”

“Um. Sore. But fine otherwise.”

“You do have quite a few cuts and scrapes, and some good-looking bruises to boot. But like I said, no internal injuries so you should be feeling better as soon as those heal up. I can give you a prescription for the super-grade Tylenol to get you through the next couple of days.”

“Oh, no thank you. I don’t need it,” Adam said immediately. Prescription painkillers were not something he wanted to mess around with. And he had never even used anything as mild as ibuprofen, back in the day when this sort of thing was just a regular part of life. He could stomach a few days of bruises the old-fashioned way.

“You sure? It’s not an opiate.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, well you have my permission to double up a dose on regular Tylenol if it gets bad. But no more than once a day, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Adam felt rather than saw Ronan’s smirk, and repeated _ma’am_ under his breath.

“You said eyewitnesses? Was anyone else hurt?”

“Unfortunately, there were a few more injuries when the building collapsed, and two fatalities. It was a hell of a lightning strike. But luckily, because of the construction, there weren’t too many people there at the time.”

Adam looked over at Ronan, who gave the slightest shake of his head. Not any of us, he thought it meant. Thank God. Adam wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his stupidity had gotten anyone killed. If Gansey or Blue or Henry had been hurt because they felt they needed to come after him—he couldn’t stand it. But he couldn’t help but think about the tied up restaurant workers, too. Had they still been in the building? Or was it just Piper’s guys?

The doctor was still speaking. He tuned back in.

“In any case, you’re about ready to be discharged. I’ll go get the paperwork, and I’m also going to refer you to a cardiologist for a follow-up. Standard procedure in lightning strikes, so I wouldn’t worry too much. You seem remarkably healthy, all things considered.” She nodded and walked briskly out of the room, leaving Adam and Ronan alone again.

“Fatalities?” Adam asked Ronan immediately. “Injuries?”

“Piper,” he said. “And Colin. The shadow went after them. Maybe some of Piper’s minions too. But I didn’t get hold of Gansey until after we had already gotten to the hospital, so no one else was there. They’re all fine.”

Adam sighed a dry breath of relief.

“You didn’t see anyone else in the building? There were some workers, tied up and chloroformed—” he cut off because Ronan was already shaking his head.

“Nah, by the time I got there it was just the two henchmen and Colin out front. They must have been let free, or moved somewhere else.”

Adam was quiet for a relieved moment. He looked down at their enjoined hands. “Should we talk about this?”

“You mean talk about that thing where you ran off to do exactly what we all explicitly told you not to do?” Ronan asked flatly.

Oh, right. That. No, Adam didn’t want to talk about that.

“I meant this thing you’re—we’re doing here.” He gestured weakly between them.

“Yes. But no. We should talk about my thing first.”

Adam looked up at the ceiling. Composed himself. He didn’t actually feel great about defending this position.

“I told you I could handle it. I’ve gone through this myself before.”

Ronan sighed, frustrated. “Don’t you get it? _You don’t have to do it alone_. How could you not know I’d come after you? That we all would, if you had only asked us? I may not be able to possess you and give you magic powers, but I can at least knock the fuck out of Colin Greenmantle.”

“Yeah. I know. Sorry. I did mean it when I said I trusted you.”

What was worse? _I made a deliberate decision to not include you_ or _hey my bad, I totally forgot about you_? He decided on the truth, for better or worse.

“I just—honestly, I saw the email and just moved, I didn’t even think about letting anyone else know. I’m not—I’m not used to this.”

“Having people who care about you?”

That was a dull blow. Yes, actually. Adam told himself that Ronan didn’t mean that as a dig at his past self, that he actually meant it as a reflection on his present. He now had people in his life that cared whether he lived or died. It wasn’t only that, though.

“Relying on people,” he expanded. “Getting favors. Letting anyone else help me.”

“You realize it’s not really a favor if someone wants to do it? I’ll say it again. I’ll say it until it’s actually gotten through that abnormally sturdy skull of yours. _You have people who care about you._ So, tough shit. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”

Adam reflected. He did know that, on the surface. But Ronan was right about the thickness of the outer layer that he had built up—it was going to take a long time to actually sink in.

“Either way, I’m going to be bad at it. For…a while, probably,” he said matter-of-factly. He didn’t think this was something that he should apologize for, even though he did feel guilty about it. Or—he felt something about it. It wasn’t quite guilt. Maybe it was the shame of having to admit that he wasn’t good at everything.

Ronan smiled, a little sadly. “That’s okay. I’m patient.”

Adam snorted. What a lie that was.

“Fine, I’m not,” Ronan agreed with a quirk of his mouth. “But I’m stubborn as fuck so you’ll have a time getting rid of me. I’m like a barnacle.”

Adam looked up at the ceiling and sighed, “This is going to be a disaster.”

“You think so?”

When Adam realized what he had said, and how it sounded, he just as soon realized that he didn’t mean it at all. He looked down at Ronan’s face, suddenly uncertain but trying very very hard not to look it.

“No. I don’t, actually. Surprisingly,” he replied, and it was the truth. They’d probably never really stop clashing, but they had built up a foundation, now. It would take far more than a few arguments to shake everything to pieces again.

They smiled at each other.

“Okay, why don’t you take it easy and we’ll talk about your thing later, once you get out of this hospital.” He made to stand up, and Adam stopped him, not letting him pull his hand away yet.

There were so many questions bouncing around his untethered brain. So many things not only unspoken, but unformed. What he eventually landed on was,

“Did you really punch Colin Greenmantle?”

The small, half-sheepish, half-pleased grin stole over Ronan’s face was all the confirmation he needed.

“Would have been fun to see that.”

Ronan looked at him appraisingly. Adam wanted to shrug nonchalantly but didn’t think he had it in him, so he squeezed Ronan’s hand instead. They stayed like that, linked together, until the doctor came back in to give Adam a (relatively) clean bill of health and thus the ability to leave.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, flinching a bit as his ribs screamed in protest. As he slowly stood, he began cataloguing where on his body the sore spots were, to avoid putting pressure or stress on them. He stopped favoring his right side, noting and then discarding the pain stemming from where he could tell a deep bruise must have covered most of his torso. He took a deliberate breath through his nose and relaxed his facial muscles, letting the tension flow out of his body to push any wincing away. A critical eye might still notice him moving more slowly or deliberately, and he couldn’t hide the visible marks, but he could—and did—remove all other signs of weakness.

“Alright, ready to go?” he asked. He glanced up at Ronan to find the other man staring back in mild awe.

“Holy crap,” Ronan remarked.

“…what?”

“That is some Oscar-worthy transformation shit.”

Adam smiled tightly. He still wasn’t used to having anyone around to see beneath the exterior. And he definitely wasn’t used to anyone bearing witness to the change itself.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He considered. “Well, I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with the physical part, but—” he was cut off as Ronan’s arms circled around him, clinging tightly to his shoulders.

“Stop me if I’m hurting you,” he murmured into Adam’s shoulder.

“You’re not,” Adam lied.

“You know you don’t need to pretend around me. You’re stuck with me no matter how much you wince. I mean, _Christ_ , I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“Me too. I mean, you too. I’m glad I didn’t accidentally blow you up.”

“Hey, you never know, could still happen,” Ronan joked. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I think the others are in the lobby.”

They ran into the rest of the group in the outer waiting room.

Blue was the first to rush up to Adam, concerned bright eyes roving over the bruises spread across his face and the bandages on his arms. At first Adam thought she was moving toward him to hug him. Instead, she reached out to lightly flick him on the shoulder.

“If you didn’t look so terrible already, I’d smack you upside the head for being such an idiot,” she said furiously. “A text would have killed you?”

Adam grimaced a little. He was well aware that this reaction was justified. The moment he saw them all waiting for him, _worried about him,_ he had been struck with the realization that he absolutely did not want to lose their friendship. Any of them. But he wasn’t sure whether any explanations would hold water and he was suddenly terrified that he had screwed up permanently, that this might actually be unrepairable.

"How could you be so colossally stupid?" Gansey chimed in, and then immediately looked a little chagrined. Righteous anger didn’t sit as comfortably on his face as it did Blue’s.

Strangely, the insult made Adam feel better rather than worse. It sounded like something Gansey would have said to Ronan. He must be well acquainted with reckless assholery by now, but Adam had thought maybe Ronan was just different. They had so much history, after all. So it was reassuring, paradoxically, that Gansey was angry at him. That he _cared_ enough to be angry. That he didn’t want to tiptoe around him or let him off with a shallow, jovial _it’s fine, don’t worry about it_ so they could continue on with a shallow, jovial acquaintance.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, guys. I just panicked. I didn’t even stop to think before rushing over there. It…wasn’t my finest moment.”

They all looked like they agreed with that statement. Adam would be a little offended if he didn’t know himself that it was true. He continued.

“It’s not a reflection on any of you, or whether I think you guys are competent or whatever. I know you are. It's just my own personal...I don’t know. Hangups? I’m—” he glanced at Ronan and quickly away, “—working on it.”

He tried for a joke. “I swear, next mission I will happily stand aside and let someone else get beaten up, okay?"

“Next mission?” Gansey asked.

“Yeah, you’re not thinking of disbanding the Ghostbusters, are you? We’ve got a hundred percent success rate.” Another joke. He was really not good at this. He waited, hoping against hope that this was enough of a start.

Gansey smiled tremulously.

“Accept my apology?" he asked all of them, but he looked at Gansey specifically.

"Course," Gansey’s smile turned more certain. “I really am glad you’re all right.”

“And that you kicked some butt, I heard,” Noah added, clapping him on the shoulder.

“That’s…a wildly overstated description of what I did,” he said, and Noah shrugged, grinning.

“Thanks anyways. For helping me. For all of it.”

Adam knew he’d have some more work to do. Building trust took time. It was strange to be on the other side of this particular fence—where he now trusted this group of people, and yet through his recklessness he had damaged their trust in him. But he was more confident that the problem was fixable, now. And he had always been good at fixing things.

He turned toward the doors, and they all walked out together.

__________

_We’ll talk about your thing later,_ Ronan had said.

It was later.

“Okay,” Ronan started. They were once again standing in his kitchen, where they had spent so much time together recently, where this whole bizarre, painful, wonderful adventure had started. Clancy wandered through and after a brief (but wet) hello, headed toward his favorite spot on the couch in the next room.

“So, I have a thing for you. Had it for a while, if I’m being honest.” Ronan looked up at Adam, fragile, as his confession hung in the air between them.

“What is this, middle school? A _thing_?” Adam teased. He was buoyant at the words finally being spoken aloud, but he still couldn’t help being himself. This was how they had always been, this push and pull. The acknowledgment changed nothing. And also—everything.

“Fine, how would you say it?” Ronan crossed his arms, eyes narrowed, challenging. As always.

Adam grinned, loose and free. “How about you, _hmm_ , I dunno, ask me out on a date?”

Ronan shifted closer. “How about I kiss you?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Fine. If you mus—” his words were cut off by Ronan’s lips on his. The kiss was shockingly soft. It was a whisper, a delicate promise of things to come as Ronan reached gentle fingers up to cup Adam’s cheeks like porcelain.

The whole thing left a little to be desired, honestly. Not that it was _bad_. The first brush of skin against Adam’s own had sent a shiver from his shoulders all the way down his spine. At the same time, Adam wanted to yell out that he wasn’t fragile. Some small pieces of him (okay, some large chunks of him) might be battered and bruised, but he wasn’t about to break apart under Ronan’s touch. There was a time for tenderness, a time for cool, soft gentleness, but this was not it. Not after he had been consumed by thoughts of Ronan’s lips on his own for so long that he was burning up with it. It pulled at every cell in him, that deep tug of desire, that reached out for more, more, _more_.

Adam opened his mouth into the kiss, hungry. Ronan made a soft sound in the back of his throat—not a questioning sound, more of an answering _yes_ as he responded with his own hunger. _God_ , that was more like it. Adam reached out a hand to grasp at Ronan’s shirt in the center of his chest, and then hissed in pain as he felt Ronan’s arm suddenly brush against his bruised ribs.

Ronan backed off immediately.

“Oh- _kay_ , that’s enough of that.”

Adam leaned forward, chasing his lips. Fuck that. “No. Come back, I’m not done.”

“I’m not going to hurt you just so we can make out a little,” he said firmly.

Again, Adam thought _Fuck. That_. He tried to move back in but Ronan held him at arm’s length like a running back giving the stiff-arm to the secondary. It was irritating, being held off by the length of Ronan’s arm and the strength in his grip, shoulder and biceps muscles bunching under the stretch of his black tee…okay, irritating was the wrong word. It was hot. The word Adam’s brain was searching for was hot. He was possessed, this time not by some foreign force. These demons were Adam’s own. He had been given the briefest taste of what he wanted and now it was being dangled in front of him, just out of reach.

“Come on,” Adam pleaded, turning on what he hoped were puppy dog eyes. “Haven’t you ever heard of kissing it to make it better?”

An eyebrow raised in response. “Kissing what?”

Adam shrugged coyly. “Whatever.”

Ronan laughed disbelievingly but finally ( _finally!_ ) moved in again, so Adam considered the gambit a success. Once again, his hands and his lips were feather-light, drops of water against Adam’s parched skin. Adam sighed fondly, a bit ruefully, against his mouth. Ronan looked so dangerous on the surface, but with all that pretense stripped away he was nothing but a big romantic goddamn softie. And Adam appreciated the concern. He did, really. It was exceedingly sweet that Ronan wanted to spare him pain. But Adam knew well that sometimes you had to take a little pain in order to get what you wanted out of life.

Once again, it was up to him to escalate, grabbing fistfuls of Ronan’s shirt at his waistline and pulling him forcefully closer. He just had to make sure not to flinch at an accidental press against a tender spot this time. He shivered at the slide of Ronan’s tongue against his own, and he felt something in his belly uncoil. His hips hitched unconsciously closer.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ronan pulled away again after a minute, gasping. “Not that I’m not finding the enthusiasm extremely hot, and we’re going to have a nice long… _conversation_ about that later, but you really need to take it easy.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Adam objected automatically. He couldn’t help it. Ronan looked, somehow, hotter than he had ever looked before, eyes bright, chest heaving, lips red and plump and well-kissed, and Adam was going crazy with it. He reached for Ronan again, hands searching for the skin under his shirt. Ronan groaned lowly.

“ _Jesus_ , Mary and Joseph, you’re a horny goddamn monster. Is this some survival side effect of ghost possession?”

“Nope. This is 100% Parrish Original. Sorry you’re just finding out now.” Adam’s wandering hands skittered up Ronan’s back, tracing the grooves near his spine.

“Yeah, I’m real broken up about it.” Ronan moved back in to speak the words against his lips. He slid a light hand down Adam’s side, opposite to the injured one, finding purchase on a slice of bare skin above his hip.

“I _am_ sorry I’m only finding about it now, though. This would have been extremely useful information for some old fantasies of mine.”

Adam thrilled at the idea of Ronan thinking about him in that way. Sure, he just said he had a _thing_ for Adam, and they were in the middle of a pretty thorough makeout session. But the confirmation that this _thing_ wasn’t just a passing fancy, that maybe Ronan wanted Adam just as deeply and as urgently in return, fully unhinged his well-crafted composure.

They kissed again. Adam felt a warm glow deep in his core, an ember that slowly spread outward, setting little fires in the blood along his veins to fill his body up to the brim. He parted his lips, chasing that deep, solid pull of _want_ , unconsciously letting the heat overflow out from his skin. As soon as his tongue once again slid against Ronan’s, a sharp, painful zap raced through him, from the point of contact all the way down to his toes. From Ronan’s soft exclamation, he had felt the same thing.

They jumped away from each other, shocked. Quite literally.

“The fuck, Parrish?” Ronan laughed, sounding dazed. “I know you didn’t actually get struck by lightning, but did you maybe roll in a pile of balloons earlier? You’re staticky as hell.”

Adam rubbed his hand over his hair vigorously a few times. “No, I’m not. Maybe it’s you.”

Ronan also touched his head, then studied the hair on his arms. He shrugged, unconvinced. Then he looked at Adam thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. Adam knew immediately what he was thinking. Maybe…? But no. Probably not. _Right_?

“OPAL!” Ronan shouted. After a second, they heard the soft patter of feet running down the stairs. “Go get that lightbulb, midget. I wanna see the energy transfer trick again.”

She popped out of existence and returned nearly instantaneously, clutching the bulb in a small fist. Before she could walk over to Adam, however, Ronan plucked the light from her hand to hold instead. He reached out with his other hand to touch her on the head and the bulb buzzed to life, illuminating the dusky kitchen.

Opal gasped in delight. “Now you’re a wire too!”

A slow, wide, devastatingly handsome grin stole over Ronan’s face.

“Hey Parrish, look, I’m magic!”

Adam shrugged, feigning indifference. Poorly.

“We can all do that. What, you thought you were special?” he asked, intentionally parroting Ronan’s reaction to finding out that Adam could see ghosts.

He could feel his lips quirking, giving him away. But this was one emotion that he didn’t care about hiding. He felt a giddy glow at seeing Ronan so unconditionally happy, and he wanted Ronan to know it.

_We can share this marvelous thing,_ he thought. _This wonder in the world. Magic is real, and it’s **ours**_.

Ronan laughed at him. “Shithead.”

“Seriously though. Did my lips do that?” Adam asked. “Damn, who knew I was so powerful? I wonder what else they can do?”

He winked lewdly at Ronan, who laughed again.

“More likely it was that fucking lightning trick you did earlier,” he replied, still looking at the bulb.

“How would that have done it?” Adam hadn’t fully clocked the repercussions of the ritual on his own body, yet. He hadn’t even thought about possible consequences to anyone else.

“I did get caught in the blast radius. I was…kind of touching you at the time,” Ronan explained, a little sheepishly.

“What the hell, _really_? When were you going to say something?” How had Adam not been able to tell?

Ronan just shrugged. “I’m fine. So.”

“Okay. That brings up my next question: how come you’re fine and I ended up in the hospital?”

“Um, A, I wasn’t the one kidnapped for two days and beaten up by a crew of evil goons, and B, I wasn’t the one possessed by a fucking ancient witch spirit. I just got the cool side effects, I guess.” He grinned down again at the glowing light in his hand.

Adam took the lightbulb from Ronan’s hand, looking at it thoughtfully. It went out. After all this, had _Ronan_ been the one to come away with the favor?

“Hey, Sprout.” Adam used one of Ronan’s many nicknames for the ghost. She obediently bounded over and clasped her small hand in his.

Nothing happened.

She looked at him. Frowned. Screwed up her face in concentration, brows furrowed.

Still nothing.

Adam looked back at Ronan, realization dawning on both of them. Ronan _had_ been favored, and Adam had not. Adam had lost his favor. Adam’s loss had been Ronan’s gain. Fantastical, creative, brilliant, awe-inducing Ronan Lynch. Of course he would be the one to end up with the magic, too, when all the chips had fallen.

Ronan was now the wire, the conductor of energy, and Adam was…Adam.

"Was this her favor to me? Did she take it away, give it to you instead?" he asked.

“I—” Ronan cut himself off, looking as bewildered as Adam felt. Adam knew Ronan had not asked for this. Would never intentionally take anything from Adam. But this new information was so much to take in all at once. He looked down at the darkened light in his hand. Nothing but a frosted glass casing for an untouched, cold, twisted bit of wire.

There was nothing left inside him. He was just regular, dull, unpolished Adam Parrish. What he had always longed for. To be normal. He felt…vacant. Hollowed out.

"Well, I always wanted to be ordinary," he said tonelessly. He looked up to find he wasn't fooling Ronan.

Ronan gently raised his chin with a knuckle. "Don't need to pretend around me, remember?"

Adam went to him and Ronan folded him in his arms.

"Fuck," he said, muffled by Ronan's shirt. “I thought—I don't know. I told her I didn’t need anything, and I meant it. I didn’t think she’d take something away from me.”

“It’s not fair,” Ronan agreed. Adam could sense the slight thread of anger in his voice. He felt a little better. He sighed, and looked up to meet Ronan’s eyes.

“I never thought ordinary would feel so—empty.”

Ronan kissed the side of his head.

"Hey. This isn't you. Whatever power you do or don't have has nothing to do with who you are."

"You sure? You didn't even start liking me until you knew I had some sort of magical ability."

Ronan gave an unconvinced hum.

"What? Don't even lie. You hated me until like two weeks ago."

"Hate to break it to you Parrish, but I've been a little bit obsessed with you for, like, a year. At least. Maybe since you started working at Cabeswater. I might have fooled everyone else, including myself, into thinking it was hate or annoyance or whatever, but even back when I thought you were boring, I couldn’t leave you alone. I don't care if you can be possessed, or turn lights on with your mind, or your touch, or even if you can see ghosts. As long as you can still lecture me about load-bearing support, I'm all in."

Adam laughed weakly against his chest. He was beginning to feel like he was standing on firmer ground. This was light years away from the worst thing that had ever happened in his life—he’d keep surviving the way he always did. No, that wasn’t right. This time he had more. He’d come out better. He may have lost some magic, but he had gained a group of people who had his back. Friends, real and true, who loved him, mistakes and all. And wasn’t that worth so much more?

Opal tugged on Adam’s shirt.

''Not now, O," Ronan said softly.

"No, it's important!"

They looked over at her to see she was holding a candle now instead of the lightbulb. It was one of those classic tall numbers, undyed and unadorned, sitting in a candlestick that looked like it would be at home on an eighteenth century writing desk. The candle had clearly never been lit, the wick white and still crusted with wax. She set it down on the table in front of Adam.

“Touch,” Opal commanded.

Adam, perplexed, handed the lightbulb to Ronan and touched the candle’s side.

“No! Touch the top.”

He did. He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do. He wasn’t sure why he was listening to her at all, other than he had nothing else to do.

“Now. Think of the fire inside you. You feel it? Push it out.”

He and Ronan both looked at her. Then at each other. They shrugged. Adam had no idea what Opal thought would happen, but he had always humored her experiments before.

He closed his eyes and tried to do as she said. He remembered the heat he felt thrumming through his blood when he had kissed Ronan. He remembered the fire that burst out of his skin during the ritual. He remembered even farther back to the flames that raced through his body all those years ago, during that first fateful possession.

And then, he tried to dig even further down inside himself. To analyze and catalogue each thing he was feeling inside, the physical and mental and emotional. Each and every large and small ache left over from the ordeal, all the happiness he felt at finally kissing Ronan, finally having his feelings reciprocated, that lingering thread of desire, that coil in his lower belly—and above all, the devastation at losing his power. Now, burrowed down inside with only himself, there was no pretension. No one else to impress or to fool or suck up to or lie to or dismiss. And there, at the center of it all, he found that small spark, a little glowing essence of… _Adam_ ness.

Opal had said to push it out. He built the tiny ember up, feeding it and feeling it spring up from his center to well through every bit of him. He felt—something working, slowly but inexorably seeping through his veins, up and down his arms, his legs, up through his spine to the top of his head. And along his hands, creeping out to the very tips of his fingers.

He opened his eyes.

The wick had caught.

He looked down, and Opal was nowhere near him.

No one was.

He was touching nothing but the candle. He couldn’t feel the flame licking his fingertip, but it was fully alight now, the flickering yellow dancing across the kitchen.

He looked up at Ronan, stunned, to see the shock mirrored on his face.

A laugh of pure disbelief bubbled out of him.

“You’re a fucking _magician_ ,” Ronan said in awe.

“Okay, Hagrid,” he scoffed automatically. He didn’t really know what he was saying. This was all so, so impossible. Ridiculous. Incomprehensible. _Magical_.

“I’m serious! You just lit that fucking candle on your _own_ with your _finger_. Tell me again how you’re ordinary.”

They both laughed, slightly delirious. How was this _real_? Adam was in a dream.

“If Ronan’s a wire now, then what the hell am I?” he asked Opal, looking dazedly down at her grinning little face.

“You’re the spark. The…the…the source. The creator.”

_The creator_.

Adam Parrish, always the fixer, ever the _wire_ , the steady and competent channel through which other people funneled their creative energy. His own efforts had always been focused on maintaining that channel, ensuring it was well-insulated and covered up, that no cracks showed through to the tangled mess of wires below.

But now he had been given an outlet for his strength, a power of his own. Not just to shape, but to create. To make something where before there was nothing.

_Thank you, Persephone_ , he thought in unrestrained wonder. He had insisted that he didn’t need a thing from her, or anyone else. As he always did. Never accept favors from others. Do everything alone and don’t mind how that makes you lonesome.

But she had called his bluff. She had given him a gift anyways. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._ He hoped that wherever she was now, she was at peace.

Laughing, he threw his arms around Ronan, who caught him easily.

He untangled himself to touch the lightbulb still clutched in Ronan’s hand, and thought about the fire inside him. After a brief delay, it lit up. He laughed again, loud and wild. He touched Ronan’s cheek with one finger. He was always a quick study, and this time the result was near instantaneous.

“Jesus _fuck_!” Ronan exclaimed, flinching, but he was laughing too. “I’m dating a fucking electric eel.”

Adam wiggled his fingers threateningly in Ronan’s face, and he backed away slightly, still laughing, then grabbed one of Adam’s wrists in a firm grip with the hand not holding the bulb. Adam stilled immediately. His heart did not.

“Okay. Okay, seriously. There is a hell of a lot to process here, but let’s take this one step at a time. You just got out of the hospital and you’re still injured as hell, so please don’t expend all of your energy making shit light up. Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down and _rest_. I’ll bring you some tea.”

They stared each other down, impassive. Adam did not want to give in, but he could already feel his energy sapping, and he knew Ronan was right.

“Fine,” Adam sighed. “But fair warning, once you follow me up, you’re not coming back down.”

“That a threat, Parrish? Watch it, now. Be good and I may be willing to add some cuddling to the deal,” Ronan allowed.

“Cuddling. Mhm,” Adam said dryly.

“I don’t know, now I’m less worried about accidentally hurting you than getting accidentally set on fire by a stray finger. Or tongue.”

Adam smiled, the picture of innocence. “I’ll be careful where I put both.”

“Christ, you’re impossible,” Ronan said, sounding like he thought that was the exact opposite of a problem. “How did I ever mistake you for boring?”

“Well, it’s understandable. You’re very dumb,” Adam said, deadpan.

Ronan released Adam’s wrist to instead hook a large hand into the back of his hair, tugging firmly. Adam sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. He had felt that tug all the way down in the base of his spine. Ronan leaned in to whisper, edges of his smile sharp as a knife, “Oh, this is gonna be _fun_.”

Once again giving in to the helpless roar in his chest, Adam dug his fingers into the back of Ronan’s neck and brought their lips back together.

And so they tangled around each other in the dimming light, architect and engineer, wire and spark, creator and conduit. And they kissed, creating and shaping their new world together. And as Adam’s fire inside burned outward, the lightbulb in Ronan’s hand steadily began to glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they lived happily, and magically, ever after. thus ends the plot. thx for going on this very weird ride with me!! but also don't worry the chapter count didn’t lie to you - there is still an epilogue to go.
> 
> **up next:** if you were waiting for a satisfying conclusion to all the tension…I can say you will get it. what even _is_ enemies to lovers if they don’t make it to the latter part?


	20. Epilogue: What a Way to Make a Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops I had to change the rating on this entire fic just for the last chapter?? sorry for the bait and switch but this was such a slow burner that a little payoff seemed necessary.
> 
> I’m not exactly sure where the line is between M and E but since this is only the epilogue and the rest of the 19 chapters are not very spicy, I’m keeping it M and just adding an extra content warning here: 
> 
> **you should definitely skip this one if smut isn’t your bag.** turn back; the plot ended last chapter!

It was 9:34 on a Monday morning, and Ronan Lynch was humming under his breath as he put the finishing touches on a new mockup.

Humming. A _jaunty_ _tune_.

Jesus Mary, he was so gone. It would be pathetic if he actually gave a shit about things like saving face. But he didn’t. He was too goddamned happy to care that he had zero chill.

Sub-zero, really.

Two months had passed since they had accidentally blown up Dave Thomas Circle. Whelk and a number of other assholes at GCNN and beyond had been charged for various crimes relating to murder and conspiracy to commit, thanks to Henry’s anonymous tip. Apparently when the Feds came knocking, Whelk “sang like a canary” (Noah’s words…and encouragement) and the entire shady venture came crashing down. The lawmakers associated with the lobbying firm were claiming to have no knowledge of any of it, but the whole thing had become a huge scandal inside the beltway.

After the event itself, Adam and Ronan returned to Cabeswater somewhat warily, to find that very little had changed. Calla, former CFO, had been promoted to CEO to take Piper’s place. The change in leadership had caused barely a disturbance in the running of the company, and their hand in Piper’s firing (and eventual death) didn’t seem to be common knowledge. Which was good, since Ronan was pretty sure that accidentally murdering your former boss by siccing an ancient spirit on her would probably be frowned upon by the board, even if she had turned out to be a bit evil.

And if any coworkers noticed the other change, that Ronan was maybe a little more lighthearted and Adam a little less acerbic when the well-known adversaries sparred over design details, no one had yet commented on it.

For the moment, the two of them were content with that.

A knock came at Ronan’s door and he looked up to see Adam on the other side of the small window. Speak of the devil. He was wearing a crisp white button down and a pained expression. He looked radiant. Ronan’s heart, predictably, flopped over. He wondered if he’d ever get used to this feeling. He waved Adam in, calling, “it’s unlocked!”

The reason for the pained expression became immediately clear as Adam stepped through and closed the door behind him. “God almighty, this place stinks. Why are you spray painting? _Inside_? You’re going to get brain damage.”

“What, no crack about how I already have brain damage? Your game’s getting weak.” He gave another quick well-practiced spritz over a section of the small model. “Just snazzing up my new design real quick. Everything can use a little extra glitter.”

He finished up with a flourish, then moved toward Adam threateningly, holding the can of gold paint up like a weapon, nozzle out.

Adam backed up, stumbling slightly in his haste.

“Lynch, I swear to fuck, if you get sparkly spray paint on my new white shirt I will never let you suck my dick again.”

Of course Adam knew exactly what threats to deploy for maximum effect. He might have suggested withholding his own sexual favors (which would, admittedly, be a real blow—pun intended), but it had become increasingly clear to both of them over the past few weeks how much Ronan loved taking Adam to bits with his mouth. Again, this would probably be a pathetic thing to admit if Ronan cared. _At_ _all_.

“Big words.”

He advanced slowly, and Adam retreated until his back hit the wall. Ronan kept on until he was close enough to spread one hand on the wall next to Adam’s head. He shook the can threateningly in his other, effectively boxing Adam in. Adam raised his chin and stared back, defiant, elegant jaw clenching. Ronan remembered back to earlier days in the office when he would try to provoke this expression just so he could trace that jawline subtly with his eyes. Any semblance of subtlety had long been tossed out the window. He drank in the sight greedily now.

“Know what I think, Parrish? I think you’re a liar,” he said darkly. “In fact, I bet I can prove how much of a liar you are before the day is over.”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, teasing and drawing out the act. His lips barely brushed Adam’s, once, twice, three times, pulling faint sighs from those pretty lips of his before pulling away, making Adam yearn and want and reach for it himself. The moment they touched for real, the moment he felt heat and pressure and lips parting to surrender into the kiss, the moment he felt his own heart stutter in response…he sprayed a quick blot of paint onto Adam’s shirt above the waistline.

Adam sucked in a sharp breath through his nose as he bit Ronan in shock. “You _fucker_!” he growled.

The sudden prick of pain at Ronan’s lower lip sent a searing bolt of heat straight through him. He smirked once, pleased, and glanced back out the small windowpane on his door. The day was still early and no one else seemed to be around their workspace. He moved yet closer, crowding Adam against the wall and tossing the paint can to the ground. He shifted to block Adam from any possible view with his body, just in case, as he nosed lightly at the skin behind his ear, breathing in the faint scent of shampoo and minty soap. His now free hand quickly undid Adam’s belt and dipped into his slacks before Adam could lodge some lame protest like “it’s 9 am” or “you just ruined my new shirt” or “we’re in _public_ , Lynch”.

Adam groaned as his head fell back against the wall. He still had enough presence of mind to grit out, “Ronan. We. Are. At. WORK.”

Like clockwork. Even before Ronan was head over heels for the man in front of him, he could predict the logical arguments that would leave his mouth. For some reason they were hitting him very differently lately. Maybe it had something to do with the intimate way he knew the taste of that mouth now. Or the hitch in Adam’s breath as he launched this particular attempt. By this point Ronan’s lips had moved on to lightly dragging over the side of Adam’s neck, under his jaw.

“Don’t tell me you never had fantasies about this before,” he murmured lowly into Adam’s skin. “I sure as hell did. When you’d get all uppity and in my face about some stupid shit… _Christ_. You realize that was half the reason I annoyed you so much. I used to go home and jerk off to the thought of you hatefucking me during a design session.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Adam bit off, thrusting his hips up into Ronan’s fist.

“What about you?”

Adam took a little too long to respond. His blue eyes were glass-bright and he was taking deliberate breaths through his nose, clearly trying for composure.

“Um. What?”

“Did you ever think about this before?”

A beat. Adam took another deep inhale through his nose. Ronan took the pause to leisurely rub his palm around the head of Adam’s dick to gather a little lubricant. The next slow drag of fingers down was much smoother and he watched, satisfied, as a full-body shudder coursed through Adam. As he gripped firmly at the base, Adam finally lost the battle with himself. His hand reached up to cling to the back of Ronan’s neck as if for dear life as the words spilled out.

“Yes, _God_ , you’re so fucking hot I couldn’t stand it. I thought about you all the time. You drove me crazy.”

Ronan hummed thoughtfully as he twisted his wrist. Adam gasped.

“Never let on though, did you, you stone cold bastard. Ice in your veins, huh. You’d just look at me with that blank stare, that lethal _fucking_ disdain, while I ran around like a schoolboy, pulling your goddamn pigtails.”

Adam huffed out a laugh, that quickly turned to another gasp. He was practically panting at this point. Ronan could not believe his fucking life, to have beautiful Adam Parrish so responsive, falling apart under his hands. He gripped Adam even more tightly as he stroked maddeningly slow, at the same time licking a leisurely stripe up the side of his neck.

“Ronan, Ronan _please_ —"

“Please what? Use your words,” he grinned, sharp as a blade. He was enjoying this way too much.

Scratch that, there was no such thing as too much when it came to this. Watching the fallout from the Teasing Adam Parrish game was like cycling through the stages of grief in reverse. As if on cue, bargaining turned to anger.

“Go. Fucking. Faster,” he growled out.

“Hmmm…” Ronan pretended to think about it. “…no. You deserve to be taken care of. _Savored_ , you know? I think I need to take my sweet goddamned time.”

“But—”

“Oh shit, the time! What time is it??” Ronan did his best to act shocked. He removed his hand from Adam’s pants to look dramatically at his watch face. He had no idea if he was a good actor. He didn’t think Adam was in a state to notice one way or the other.

“ _What_ —”

“I have a meeting in like two minutes! I’ve gotta go, Parrish. I’ll see you later.”

And with nothing but a quick peck on the lips, he left Adam leaning against the wall in his office, debauched and disheveled and shellshocked.

Ronan knew he was going to pay for it later.

He couldn’t wait.

__________

__________

The rest of the day, Adam’s mood swung wildly between extraordinarily pissed off and extraordinarily turned on.

He had to take a literal half hour to cool down and regain his composure in Ronan’s office before braving the halls to go back to his own workspace. From then on, any time someone asked about the stupid gold stain on his shirt, or laughingly mentioned it, or even looked at it (and by extension, him) funny, his annoyance raged back to him in full force.

On the other hand, every time he passed Ronan in the halls, or saw him in the break room, or sat across from him in a meeting, Ronan would find some way to rile him up without anyone else noticing. A casual touch on the back turned into the briefest skate of fingers across Adam’s waist, just under his ribs where he was ticklish. A quick lean to grab something across the break room counter where he was standing turned into a low filthy whisper in his ear, hot breath tickling his neck. A relaxed lounge in a swivel chair in the conference room, arms bracketed behind his head, caused the pull of his shirt across full biceps and forced Adam’s mind into a furious tailspin of memories of arms flexed, holding him down on the bed while he took Adam apart. He was in _hell_.

Twice he had gotten close to going to the bathroom to jerk off, just to get some goddamn relief. He resisted at the last minute, since the stalls were nowhere near private enough and he was certain he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet.

Again, hell. It was hell he was living in. Absolute and utter _hades_.

By the time afternoon rolled around, Adam’s nerves were frazzled, to say the least. The rest of his coworkers had started avoiding him, wary of his mood. Probably assumed he and Ronan had had another of their infamous run-ins. Well, they weren’t exactly wrong.

Speak of the devil.

He saw Ronan pass by his open office door and called out to him from where he sat at his desk.

“Hey, Lynch!”

Ronan backtracked and popped his head through the doorframe.

“Need something?” he asked innocently.

“You’re a fucking monster,” Adam spat back lowly. Ronan’s answering grin was savage and triumphant. He walked through the door and closed it behind him. Adam heard the faint _snick_ of the lock and his stomach swooped.

“Hello to you too, dear boyfriend of mine.”

“I’m serious. You are literally the worst person I’ve ever met.”

Ronan was advancing on him steadily, the irritatingly smug look transforming to something almost fond. He walked around the desk and reached down to run his fingers through Adam’s hair and around to cup the side of his face.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You are not.”

“Nah. I’m really not.” He was still grinning like the cat that ate about a thousand canaries. “I’ll make it up to you though.”

He dropped to his knees.

“What, _now_?” Adam looked toward his door. Unlike Ronan’s, his office didn’t have a window into the rest of the workspace. It was still only 4:30 though, and the walls weren’t at all soundproof.

Adam’s protest sounded faint even to his own ears. To be quite honest, he was far past the point of giving a shit that they were still nearly in public. As soon as Ronan had knelt in front of him, Adam’s dick had leapt to attention and he was already mostly hard again.

“Yeah.” Ronan ran his hands firmly and purposefully up Adam’s thighs. “You’ll have to be quiet. Think you can be quiet for me?”

Adam tried to exhale. It came out practically a whimper. Well. Failed that one already.

“After what you put me through today? Probably fucking _not_.”

Ronan simply looked up at him through those dark and devastating lashes. There was almost a pout on his lips, _Jesus goddamned Christ_. When Adam used to think about this, any time he let himself indulge in brief (but vivid) fantasies of what Ronan Lynch might look like during sex, he never in his life could have guessed it would make him feel this way.

He was no stranger to wanting. _Want_ had been buzzing through his veins on a low consistent hum for as long as he could remember. The Adam Parrish of old was always tamping down on that feeling, and he knew he could handle it. This was something else, though. This was a _need_ , this yearning, stronger than hunger, than thirst. And it cut through his pride like a sickle to wheat. He’d do anything Ronan asked of him. He was not only willing, but _eager_ , to beg for this. He was on fire with it. It devoured every other thought, reducing his brain to ash. He wondered if he’d ever get used to this feeling. He shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“You are truly, absolutely the worst. This is the worst idea you ever talked me into.”

Ronan’s triumphant smile was back. He was stunning. Adam could not believe his fucking life, to have beautiful Ronan Lynch on his knees, near to begging to suck his cock.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stop you if you get too loud.”

“And how, pray tell, the _fuck_ are you going to do that?” he hissed.

Ronan looked around the room. He landed on something on Adam’s desk and his face positively lit up. Adam followed his gaze and saw his spare tie, clean and neatly pressed, all laid out and ready to be slipped on for important meetings or dressier functions.

“Ohh, no. No, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Ronan grabbed the tie and quickly folded it in half, and twice again, so the fabric was thick enough for his intended use. His eyes were actually sparkling with mirth. He was a goddamn devil. “Just, you know, bite down if it gets to be too much.”

“There is no way.” Adam asserted firmly. They stared at each other, impassive. A muscle jumped slightly in Ronan’s jaw. Adam’s eyes followed that knife’s-edge jawline down toward his soft, waiting lips.

He grabbed the tie. Who was he kidding? He’d last about five seconds.

For the second time that day ( _at_ _work!_ ) Ronan’s hand was in his pants. This time, however, the maneuver was quickly followed by his tongue, firm and sure, swirling all over, making sure that every bit of him was wet and wanting.

Adam’s every nerve was alight. He could feel it in his goddamn _hair_. It still wasn’t enough, too slow, too sporadic, too unpredictable where he’d feel that next jolt of electricity. He was gripping the arms of his chair hard enough that he was surprised his fingertips weren’t puncturing the damn things.

“Have you not fucking had e- _fucking_ -nough fucking driving me fucking crazy yet, god _damn_ just fucking _suck me_ you unholy fucking tease—" Adam babbled nonsensically in a frantic whisper.

Ronan resurfaced to grin at him, lips already ruby red and shining. “I love it when you recite me poetry.”

“Holy shit, you’re annoying,” Adam sighed as he shut his eyes, equal parts irritated and turned on. Nope. That was a filthy lie. He was about a million parts more turned on than irritated. No one in the history of human existence had ever been as turned on as he was right now.

When he looked again at Ronan, Ronan was still looking back at him.

“You know, Parrish, if you can’t manage to keep that mouth shut…” He raised one hand and tapped the tie in Adam’s hand meaningfully.

Adam also raised a hand, the same one holding the tie, and gave Ronan the finger. Ronan, naturally, took that as encouragement. He dove back down and set up a steady rhythm, and after only a few seconds more, Adam was forced to give in. He shoved one side of the wadded tie into his mouth, still gripping the other end in his hand for leverage. It was that or quit his job in abject mortification after this was over and everyone in the entire building had heard what a mess Ronan Fucking Lynch made of him behind closed doors.

Ronan himself groaned lowly when he saw Adam concede, his own sounds muffled by Adam’s cock now fully down his throat.

Time stretched and snapped in great gulps. Adam had no tether to reality anymore. He was consumed. Most of his brain was crying out _yes, god yes, holy shit yes that’s so good, more more MORE_ —but the smallest scrap of sanity leftover kept chiming in to remind him that he _very much wasn’t allowed_ to say it out loud. So his teeth gripped harder at the bit, and his nails dug deeper, and his hips canted desperately up into Ronan’s pliant mouth. The head of his cock hit the back of Ronan’s throat and he hissed at the spike of pleasure that punched through him, lighting up every single nerve in his body at once. Ronan’s eyes flashed as he gagged slightly, and his own fingers dug into Adam’s thighs.

He pulled off with an entirely indecent slurping sound, panting.

“Shit, sorry,” Adam whispered around the self-imposed gag still between his teeth. Shoving your dick down someone’s throat without warning was poor form, to say the least, even if it was accidental.

“Don’t apologize,” Ronan growled lowly. He was— _Jesus Christ_ —he was grabbing a handful of tissues from the box on Adam’s desk and unzipping his own pants. “And don’t stop.”

Adam nearly came right there and then. The knowledge that Ronan was getting off too—that this was turning him on so much that he could no longer help himself—was utterly shattering. He took a deep, trembling breath, and fed himself past Ronan’s maddening lips once again. Now it was Adam who set the rhythm, while Ronan’s groans were stifled by his own Adam-shaped gag.

Adam didn’t last long after that. He gave one final deep thrust and a spine-cracking tidal wave of bright-hot pleasure crashed over him. He dug the fingers of his free hand into the back of Ronan’s skull, teeth clenched so hard he was shocked they didn’t crack, as he came hard down Ronan’s throat. He shuddered violently as he felt Ronan swallow around him, and again, as he felt Ronan’s throat desperately groaning out his own release, knelt at his feet.

They slowly pulled apart.

Adam gazed down at Ronan, completely ruined, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon, teeth and one fist still harshly gripping opposite ends of the folded tie. Ronan’s breath was equally labored. He looked obscene, lips cherry-red and parted and slicked with fluid. He swiped a drop of white from the side of his slightly swollen lower lip with his thumb, over-bright eyes not leaving Adam’s, and then slowly smiled, shark-like.

“I win.”

Adam stared blankly for a second. Then two. Three. He had forgotten everything that had come before this point in the day. Not to mention there was no way he could be expected to string a single coherent thought together with Ronan still at his feet, the filthy gorgeous star of all of his most shameful dreams. As he slowly, painstakingly rewound his mind, he remembered that fucking spray paint, and his promise, and Ronan’s dumb bet.

Ha. As if there was any version of him in any universe that could have held out. Adam Parrish had no problem with being a liar, really, if his lies ended like this.

Still, he had (the tatters of) a reputation to maintain. He carefully set the crumpled, spit-soaked tie back down on his desk and awarded Ronan the most disdainful look he could muster under the circumstances.

“Asshole.”

Ronan smiled back, and returned fondly, “Nerd.”

Some things would never change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand that’s all folks! NOW they lived happily ever after. sorry for ending my thoroughly plot-heavy story with an indulgent and irrelevant chapter of porn. but hey, that’s why we write fanfiction and not real books.
> 
> **also, here’s a long sappy rambling tl;dr:**
> 
> thank you so so SO much to everyone who read & kudoed & commented along the way - you are truly the greatest and absolutely were a necessary external motivator to my stupid procrastinating ass who is incapable of following through on anything. having even a couple people saying they were excited to see what happens next kept me excited to write and post as quickly as possible.
> 
> this is the first piece of fiction (beyond a few short one-shots) that I have ever attempted to write, and I actually got it to novel length AND I finished it in under four months. sorry if that sounded like bragging, but I am absolutely going to take a moment to feel very proud of myself for this accomplishment.
> 
> the pace of updating also meant I didn’t spend much time on edits or big rewrites, but I was determined do this as an exercise in fun and distraction, rather than something that would turn into hard work and extra stress. and I really did write this with just me as the audience in mind, which meant a lot of stupid shit went into it just to make myself laugh. so I also appreciate you all for 1) actually reading and enjoying it and 2) bearing with me for any changes in writing style/tone or plot holes or whatever else you might have caught.
> 
> I am still really happy with the end result, so I hope it made all of you out there in the void smile too! thank you again for being so kind; this was such a fun thing to do in the tail-end of a terrible year.
> 
> [anyways, come find me on tumblr!](https://cheeeryos.tumblr.com/)


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